


Strength in Numbers

by PaperAnn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Blind Date Dean/Ketch, Dean/Cas Pinefest, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2019, Drunken Shenanigans, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Inappropriate Humor, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Castiel/Meg Masters, Romantic Comedy, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, blind dates gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: Two men are on separate dates and they’re both going horribly, horribly wrong.Dean’s the first to notice he’s not alone in this misery when he spots a guy across the restaurant in the same boat. He comes up with an idea on the fly—Dean needs to escape—why not help out a kindred spirit in the process? Through subtle gestures (or as subtle as Dean can be) they meet in the restroom.After meeting Cas…wow. Dean can’t stop escapingback to him....Even if their rendezvous point is raising eyebrows with their dining partners...who cares!Cas and Dean’s secret meetings are the (unconventional) date they dreamed of.Another light bulb flickers. They shake up the evening with a game of musical chairs: joining their two awful ventures into one double-date so they can be together. And hopefully stay together, once their obligations end…Finding love these days is hard as hell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to another round of Dean/Cas Pinefest!
> 
> It was my pleasure to work with the crazy-talented and sweet [kampfhomo](http://kampfhomo.tumblr.com/) for this challenge. Her work is absolutely fantastic and deserves all the praise in the world! 
> 
> Much love to [chiwalker](http://chiwalker.tumblr.com/), who beta read this baby! Sending endless thank-yous for super-speed and oh-so-much help cleaning up this work! <3
> 
>  **Ann's Notes:** As far as Rom-Coms go, we're keeping the mood light in this fic. I adore Ketch and Meg (if you've read any of my work in the past, you know that's the gospel truth) and I'm by no means bashing or hating on them. Nothing in this work is meant to offend. Nope. Nothing.
> 
> With that in mind, I hope you enjoy some Destiel pining, awkward situations, fluff and (naturally) a side of smut <3

For the first time in a long time, Dean was grasping at straws.  He was fighting like hell to find the silver lining in his current circumstance.  
  
It was too damn hot.  His slacks were chafing against his ass, while seated on these stupid ‘contemporary’ high-tops.  Dean's feet didn't even reach the ground, and he was a tall dude!  There were just…hanging.  His normal nervous knee-bounce turned into a sway, the toes of his boots knocking against the center column of the table now and again.

Every time they'd ' _clu-clunk_ ,' he’d jar the entire damn fixture, drinks sloshing, and he'd try not to wince.

Now normally, Dean wasn’t too picky about what he ate.  Food was food was food—he was a happy camper.

This restaurant was a den of lies.  

The joint slapped some sauce on a fancy-ass cracker, topped with a single leaf of spinach, and called it good.  But, oh, there were so many courses of this ‘food,’ each new dish carved out a deeper hole in Dean’s pocket.  The servings were so tiny.  Every. Time.  They'd fit in a spoon!  Dean would jam it in his mouth and kinda suck on it, until it disintegrated.  He milked every moment, striving for every milligram of taste he could get out of it.

...Not like it worked.  
  
Which brought Dean to the main event.  
  
He was going to kill Jo!  How could his best friend throw him under the bus like this?!

Dean was going to begin his revenge by starving her—like she had starved him tonight.  After said starvation, he’d implement another creative, colorful form of torture: for her brilliant idea of setting him up on the _worst blind date ever_!

Dean was flabbergasted, honestly unsure if this was a prank: a joke gone horribly wrong—or maybe Dean hadn't got the memo and wasn't seeing the big picture...  
  
Whatever the reason, something had gotten lost in translation, Dean...had no idea how the fuck to interact with this dude.  Dammit, he was a social guy, but everything was wrong!   _Everything_!  
  
They weren’t even through the first half of dinner and Dean was crawling out of his skin.  The entire point of choosing this still place was because people raved about ‘the experience’ and, nope, Dean couldn’t exactly ditch out.  He couldn't play either of his Get Out of Jail Free Cards.  
  
Now, long beyond the point of no return, Dean wasn't able to comment in dramatic surprise, ' _oh, my mistake, I thought you were someone else—how embarrassing!_ '  Nor could he bolt, shouting during his sprint, ' _wow, it's_   _late, waaay past my bedtime_ ': they hadn't reached the halfway mark!   
  
No matter how badly he wanted to—Dean knew this was Jo’s buddy.  God, Jo was his ride-or-die kind of girl, his best friend, Dean owed it to her to push through until the end.  He resigned to suffer.  
  
Dean was completely unaware Jo had a random as fuck, self-absorbed, British friend.  Who, uh, preferred to be called by his last name in potentially romantic situation?  How weird was that?

Sure, he was hot.  He drove a motorcycle.  Actually, the accent made him _double-hot,_ Dean couldn't lie _._   But that's where any attraction ended.

Maybe this Ketch guy was hook-up material, but only if Dean met him at a bar.  On his own terms.  Without any swore allegiances and repercussions.  _And_ he was able to duck out immediately after sex.   Simply put: Ketch sure as hell wasn't date-night material.  Possible one-off material, but once he opened his mouth, yeah, that concept vanished.

Where had Jo gotten her wires crossed on this one?!  Where was her usual intuition?  She was normally good at this!  Maybe Ketch had played _her_ and that's where it all went downhill...  
  
The question of 'how' kept popping up in the back of his head.  Dean was baffled, no closer to an answer, and the night had transformed into him faking it so hard, his cheeks _hurt_ from feigned smiles.  His fists clenched and released under the table, palms sweaty, while he itched for his next drink.

The fancy restaurant's _dining_   _menu_ was already cleaning him out, but the _drinks_ were gonna bankrupt him!  Didn't mean he was gonna abandon the booze-ship and jump, it was the only way Dean foresaw himself not losing his goddamn mind.  He’d been switching back and forth between top-shelf scotch (because why would they have whiskey, right?) and snobby, posh craft beers.

Naturally, it was too much to ask for some Jack Daniels and a normal brew on tap.  Those choices were what the paupers indulged in—duh.

The moment the waitress set down the scotch, Dean’s arm shot out and he tossed it back, subtly begging her with his eyes, “Keep ‘em coming,” causing his date to recoil.  Oops.

Dean quickly explained, “Sorry, thirsty.  Uh, rough day at work, too,” trying to laugh it off.  Not like he owed the guy, but still.  “So, Ketch!  You were telling me about your promotion,“ and even the words…they _didn’t_ roll easily off his tongue, they were forced.

Like his tongue was sandpaper.

But did his date notice?  Of course not.  This crazy-ass picked up right where he left off.  Keen to chat about himself until the cows came home.  
  
The more he yammered on, the better Dean was for it.  He didn't trust his filter, never had.  If even one of his thoughts about Ketch turned verbal?  Dean couldn't talk himself out it—he'd only tighten the noose around his neck.

In Dean’s flitting, nervous attention he picked up on something directly _beyond_ the nightmare in front of him.  Or rather, a _someone_ who caught his eye.

Another guy.  One who looked like his mirror image: aimlessly kicking the air underneath the goddamn tables.  He was grasping the edges of his napkin so hard, Dean could see his white knuckles all the way across the room.  It was a wonder he hadn’t torn the thing in half!

For the briefest second, the man must have felt eyes on him.  He looked up and met Dean’s gaze.

Oh.

Wow.  He knew that expression.

Dean hadn’t thought it possible.  There was another person in this shitty restaurant (probably starving and willing to giveaway their firstborn for a _real_ meal) having a _worse_ date than he was!

What were the odds?

“Dean?  Did you hear me?”

He focused back on his own terrible date and lied.  “Yeah, totally.  Just, uh, someone looked familiar.  False alarm.”

At least now, so long as he was sneaky, Dean would have a new source of entertainment.  Or at least someone who could feel his pain—solidarity from across the dining hall.  Or maybe… _wait_.

Dean totally had an idea!  

He _would_ make this enjoyable if it was the last thing he did!

...Or at least find a way (besides overpriced booze) to make it through the night alive.  

If he played his cards right, this could _totally_ work out, and _God_ , did it feel amazing to have a plan!  He wanted to send a Thank You to the wide-eyed hottie in the corner.  This guy was sending waves of distress strong enough to fuel Dean's brain, he turned it into _inspiration_.

If this worked, maybe Dean wouldn’t have to murder-starve-torture Jo after all.

\----------------------

This had been a foolish idea.  Castiel had no one to blame but himself.

The truth Cas once wholeheartedly believed was a hoax: the curtain dropped and revealed blatant fiction.  
  
Cas had gone into tonight living a lie.  
  
This particular learning curve was a goddamn cliff.  A cliff he'd flung himself off, still in free fall, with no way of counting down until his crash to rock bottom.  Maybe he was already there.  
  
Castiel's attempt to sift through and to _seek out_  reality was...poor.  His head ached from digging, needing real-life facts, that were obscured within the mountain of lies.  Nothing could have prepared him for this date.  
  
He was figuring that out as they went along.

The very first dawning: a sober Meg was _worse_ than a drunk Meg.  And as she steadily made her way, shot after shot, towards intoxicated: Cas greatly questioned his standards.   
  
Whether he had any at all.  
  
Hell, looking at the catastrophe in front of him had Castiel questioning _all_ the choices he'd made in his entire goddamn life.

What brought them together in the first place was an unfortunate situation.  A retrospective accident.

What happened was that Castiel had a one night stand.  
  
He was quite alarmed it had been with a woman.

The morning after, in light of the event, he needed to reflect—to ponder its weight.    
  
That led Cas to his first mistake: he proceeded to have the wrong _conversation_ with the wrong _friend_.  This so-called friend gave Cas poor advice.  During that very chat and brainstorming sit-down, his ‘friend’ planted an idea, making him wonder if something could be there.

After all, Castiel’s sharp departure from his normative and exclusive interest in men had to be caused by something—right?  Or so his 'friend' implied.

Usually, Cas was excellent at seeing things for what they were: random sexual encounters.  

Except, given his previous state of intoxication, the fact they were also dabbling in some—how did he put it?—recreational drug use, his evening with Meg seemed… _profound_.  

Life-changing.  As though the melody in her laughter and the twinkle in her smile had created the universe—or the universe had been created around her—as its flawless muse.  Cas swore that night Meg gifted him with the air he breathed—there weren't flowing lines of poetry or existing words to describe the way she made him feel—

Looking back, Cas _knew:_ it was the fucking booze and drugs.  
  
Every time he mixed that crap he became...whimsical.

The next time he picked up the phone (this time, seeking his brother's advice), everything was still grandiose metaphors, ethereal thoughts, provoking wonders about if this woman was the real thing.  

Until that night, Castiel had known himself to be _firmly_ gay.  
  
Always.  Confidently.  Since he learned what attraction was.

After speaking with Gabriel, (the smart one who _had_  reservations—unlike his asshole 'friend') Castiel had excitedly discovered Meg put her number in his phone.  
  
Of course, like a fool, he believed that it was kismet.  Signs from the cosmos, reaching out, pulling him back to her and—  
  
... _Yeah_ , Cas may still have been a _little_ high when he made date plans, instead of taking it at face value.  Someone hijacking his phone.

Now, that he was struggling to survive (minute by _painful_ minute) in her company once more—

Castiel realized he was a bisexual _idiot_.

And Meg was nothing like how he’d played her up in his mind.  In reality, she was—

Decently awful.

The airy, carefree surprise lover he’d experienced before was a fantasy.  Meg Masters was a brash, vulgar woman who didn't giggle: she crowed and screeched, easily breaking the sound barrier.  Cocky, tactless, shameless, she entertained herself by publicly reminiscing about Cas' cock impossibly  _louder_ than she cackled.

He was mortified.

What he’d intended to be a lovely evening with a possible budding relationship turned on its head and progressed into a waking nightmare.

Cas quickly realized (with her aggressive tenacity) once they left dinner, his next act was a life-or-death errand to the mall—he needed to change his phone number.  Cut off all communication.  He may even need to get a new car—having picked her up, and Meg was _already_ clinging to him!  She was tightening her proverbial strangle-hold, as though this was the first time a man had _ever_ shown her attention.  
   
...It very possibly could be.  Increasing alarm rose in his gut, Cas panicking she would never let go.

If Meg continued to escalate at the rate she was going, he'd need to relocate to a new city!  
  
Oh God—what if she'd already spilled something in his drink?  To disorient him.  Knock him out.  Take him back with her.  Somewhere he'd never see the light of day,  _before_ he had the chance to run?  What if—

Cas was on the verge of a panic attack, all while she slurred a rattled-off a list of bars next on their list, “because they were just getting started.”  And _why_ did she keep calling him Clarence—?  
  
He'd never felt fear, swirling confusion, and utter annoyance at the same time.  It was bizarre.

In his distress, he felt eyes on him and wondered if it was the young couple with the service animal Meg managed to spook.  Or perhaps the table of middle-aged men congregating for a business meeting who didn't hide their distaste for her words.  
  
Or maybe yet _another_ group was scooting away, abandoning ship, to escape her obscenities, dashing towards a newly freed-up table.

Patron after patrons fled their proximity in the short time since their arrival, needing to get the hell out.  They scrambled as far from her boisterous, shrill chortle and wild arm gestures that (impressively) crowded into _neighboring diner's_ personal spaces.  
  
Those moving didn't bother waiting for the previous tables to be bused.  Staring down someone's old, crummy plate was nothing, compared to sitting near Meg.  Like fugitives dressed up in designer brands, they'd dart across the space when the staff turned a blind eye, women tasked with concealing the clicks of their stilettos— _oh_ —

But after a quick glance, he could tell all those who'd fled were firmly ignoring them.  
  
Wait.  
  
If that _wasn't_ who was watching—

Oh, God.

An extremely handsome man had caught sight of him, and surprisingly...

Instead of the death-glares he'd been receiving all night, there was something _companionable_ in his gaze.

While Meg slurped at her Long Island, Cas wondered if it was the echo screeching down her straw, or the begging ‘help’ in his own eyes that shouted out louder to the stranger.  Both were deafening.

This man…he wasn’t focused on his companion.  He was actually looking _everywhere else_ —even at Cas—his outward body language was key.  ...It all spoke for him.  There was an energy surrounding him.  Was it fair to say that Cas could sense him?  That there was an odd connection zinging through the open air?  
  
No, this wasn't a flight of fancy—like the Meg debacle—it was night and day.  The feeling was different, Cas was painfully sober, feeling this tug had nothing to do with any altered or _enhanced_ state of mind.  Learning who Meg was the hard way...well, he'd all but crumbled.  This possible spark was a lifeline for so many reasons. 

All Cas wanted was reach out and shout ‘save me,’ to beg for any reason to escape.

He had a feeling, a deep, gut-feeling, this man already knew.

And if he didn’t before, the wink Castiel received was confirmation and— _oh_.

Was it possible to play musical chairs?  He would swap Meg out for this man (or anyone in this fucking restaurant) to get a chance with him.

This mysterious stranger was nothing short of stunning.  With shining, brilliant green eyes, those lips, and the dusting of freckles even Cas could spot from across the room—absolutely flawless…

Jesus!  What drugs had Cas snorted to think he was straight, even for a night?!

\------------------------

Yes!  Dean did it!  He totally got the man's attention.

Not only did he read him like a book from a distance, but the moment they locked eyes—the guy was screaming for help.

What kinda dude was Dean if he didn't help him, right?  I mean, it'd be pretty cruel to deny such an urgent plea, _right_?

Especially, from someone this hot...Dean was pretty damn positive getting a smile out of him would shoot his smoke-show-points through the roof.  It was a challenge he’d very gladly—and very eagerly—take.  Yeah, there was no turning back.

When the waitress returned with another infant-sized meal, Ketch's focus dropped right down to examine it.

Dean took the opportunity to shoot this blue-eyed angel a significant glance.  They both honed in on one another, and Dean risked raising a quick finger, and then began nodding his head in the direction of the bathrooms.

The guy saw they were just delivered their plates—he also knew that it took _one bite_ to finish them—so as long as he wasn't stupid, it read, "Wait a minute, meet me in the restroom."

An affirmative nod, followed by a slight relaxation in his tense posture gave Dean a helluva boost.  Like he was doing God's work, helping the dude out.

...For his own, totally selfish reasons.  Oh well.

"Dean?" Ketch was concerned, his brow was furrowed as he asked, "Is there something wrong with your head?"

Fuckin' a!  He hadn't realized the repetitive nodding motion had continued rollin' away!  All while he was _probably_ wearing a god-awful, victorious, dopey grin from anticipation.  He...got stuck...

Jutting his head upright, Dean said, "I think I still got water in my ear from swimming laps today," pulling the excuse out of his ass.  
  
Fuck it!  He decided for this to work?  He had to commit!  Dean went back to banging his head, harder, sharper (like, motherfucking _whiplash_ ) for effect.  "Freakin' annoying, and it won't come out!  That pressure's the worst!"

Ketch's frown deepened—the fool picked up a knife to cut the itty-bitty half-a chicken wing into fifths of half-a-chicken-wing—and said, "I thought you were busy.  You had a rough day at work, then got ready and met me here."

"I did," Dean was smooth, even in the face of Ketch parroting his words back to him.  Even awash in the dizzy self-inflicted head rush of sitting upright.  He wouldn't mess this up or raise any alarm bells.  "I do my workouts in the morning _because_ my schedule is such a bitch.  If I don't make time, I won't get around to it.  How else would I keep up with this bod?"  He tacked on the last part as a joke, yet the way his 'date' leered at him, well, it made Dean wish he hadn't.

With a long appreciative hum, Ketch confirmed, "You are in very fine shape, Dean.  Know that your hard work and dedication pays off.  Quite, quite well, in fact.  It doesn’t go unnoticed."

So the words weren't total creeper-status, until they kept building.  And building.  And fuckin’ _building_!  Any single compliment would’ve been enough, but, damn, he was laying it on thick, doing nothing but adding to this uncomfortable weirdness Dean felt.  

Yeah, he was totally skeeved out.

Dean looked down to his bird-sized portion of, well, _bird_ , poked it, and grumbled, "Thanks."

Reminding himself he’d made contact carried him through the next fifteen minutes.

\------------------------

If there was one thing Meg was excellent at, it was getting trashed.  Whether it was booze, pills, drugs, she was out of her mind in no time.

Which gave Cas the opportunity to freely gaze across the room and study the man who (if he read things correctly) wished to meet.  He didn't want to get his hopes up, but it appeared that he was on a set-up date with another.  No, not a colleague or a friend, both because of the unusually clear awkwardness and the way the other man in the jacket continually persisted forward, fell back, and repeat.  Meaning Cas had a chance.  
  
A chance to revisit his roots, to go back to basics and what he understood.  Men.

Not that he was making any assumptions.  He understood this was two people running away from unsavory situations, but he'd gladly appreciate the very obvious beauty up-close.    
  
Even though Cas' world had been shaken like a snow globe these last few days, he didn't have anything to prove.  
  
The current situation was (mostly) unrelated.  He'd be an idiot to say he wasn't drawn to this person already.  His mannerisms, the way his mask continually fell away the second his date wasn't looking—he was expressive, unique, and (Cas already knew) motivated.

Meg had ordered a round of shots after she went to the women's room, and came back itching her nose.

Undoubtedly from snorting a line or two of something.  It didn't have to be cocaine, it could've been pills.  Only time would tell which, depending on the direction her horrible manners veered.  
  
Luckily, Cas had been enlightened from their time together.  He'd never dive down that rabbit hole again.  No, instead Castiel would kick, scream, and if worse comes to worse—chop off the captive extremity before admitting defeat.

Intriguing, how swiftly his musing of Meg could ping-pong between the extremes.  Cas' could multi-task, allowing his thoughts to run, to keep him sane, while acting as a gentleman to Meg.  
  
The deliberate chivalry was a shield: this _was_ date behavior—even when he and Meg's first encounter was anything but.  The entire evening had been cordial, painfully and patiently cordial, and after they tossed back the shot, in his peripheral—

The man had stood up.

Cas locked eyes with him, Meg’s voice static noise when she commented how amazing their tequila was, and he was flagged while heading to the far hallway.

"I'll be back, I have to—" Cas shot up from his chair, almost knocking it backwards and grumbled out, "go urinate."

"Well, have fun!" Meg grabbed an impressive handful of his ass while he exited, sending a jolt of disgust through him.

Thank God, he had a reason to leave.  The night had nowhere to go but up.

\------------------------

Dean wasn’t sure it would work, it _was_ a gamble.  
  
Although, he’d been successful gaining undivided attention, interest, and made the first move (accepting the role to lead)—there were _tons_ of other factors!  
  
The first factor: whether or not he'd follow.  
  
Dean was offering him an out.    
  
Here came the million dollar question...was he the gambler Dean was?

They had maintained eye contact as he stood up, and (once out of sight from his date) jeered his thumb for the dude to tag along.  It didn’t get more obvious than that.

The only good thing about this place being so expensive were the fancy bathrooms.    
  
Turning the handle led you into another world away from the hell on the main floor.  Like fuckin' Narnia.  
  
There was an honest-to-God _lounge_ behind the sign to the men’s area.  Beyond that spacious splurge, a corner curved around to open up: leading to the corridor of stalls, illumined by mood-lighting.  Because, obviously, you needed mood-lighting to take a piss, right?  There were about six granite sinks where the lounge transitions into the corridor, and even crazier, was cologne and lotion in these baskets next to the hand driers.

Like…were they playing wingmen in favor of the couples?  Either way, the brands of ‘Courtesy Cologne’ were worth more than Dean's monthly paycheck!  He shrugged his shoulders and grabbed one.

He was in the middle of an indulgent spritz, when he heard a surprisingly deep, low voice say hello.  By the sheer fact it was coated in that fight-or-flight anxiety—yep—this was _totally_ the gorgeous man Dean had (successfully) lured in.

With a wide grin, Dean swung around and announced, “My plot worked.”

The mystery man hunched over in palpable relief.  He took a few steps towards the oddly-placed leather couch in the lounge and awkwardly leaned forward to extend his hand.  “I’m Cas.  Yes, your plot was most benevolent, actually.”

When Dean shook, his hand lingered just a second longer than it should have.  He couldn't help it, with all the alcohol he'd drank to soften the punch to the face that was Ketch.   _Damn_ , was this guy even more handsome up close…

“Name’s Dean.  You gotta tell me,” he wondered aloud, helping himself to a seat next to Cas by flopping down on the couch, “Are we kindred spirits?  Both on dates from Hell, keepin’ company with friggin calamities of humans, overpriced liquor and an entire joint I could raid and _still_ come out malnourished?”

Dean watched in awe as the previously miserable man he’d stolen glances at _bloomed_.  
  
In a snap, his damsel-in-distress was smiling, laughing, a straight-up _stunner._  Cas transformed, there waseven a glimmer of humor in his friggin vibrant blue eyes—sparking to life right in front of Dean.  He knew damn well he was grinning like a dumbass, but so what—he was proud of himself for making this spontaneous choice a reality.

_This_ was what he'd been gunning for!  To somehow wrangle a smile out of Cas.  Dean finally had a win under his belt tonight.  And _damn_ , was it breathtaking...

“I couldn’t have explained the situation better myself,” Cas readily agreed.  “What or who booked your ticket to Hell?”

“Friend set me up on a blind date,” he groaned and rolled his shoulders, draping his arms along the couch's back.  Dean used his newly gained closeness to test the waters… “What about you?  What’s your story—how'd you wind up with her, of all people?  Damn, _that's_ the laugh heard 'round the world!”

“It’s quite piercing and...unrelenting.”  He wiped a hand down his face, thoroughly embarrassed, and huffed in disgust.  “May I be candid?” Cas slowly peeked one eye open and Dean nodded enthusiastically.  “I was on LSD, my traitorous brain made her out to be some kind of Goddess on Earth, so I slept with her.  I thought my life changed—or rather, _she_ changed my life—and I couldn't live without her.”

An explosive snort propelled from his gut, Dean dissolving into giggles.  “D-dude, that’s _awesome_!”  He was wiping tears from his eyes when he asked, “What made you think s-she changed your life though?  A Goddess on a trip is one thing, but—”

“I’m gay.”  When Cas cut to the chase, Dean was both stunned and very, very thrilled with this news.  “I assumed that she must have meant a great deal to influence the entire course of my life, so I needed to see her again.  I made a colossal mistake.”

Just because he could, Dean scooted closer and patted Cas on the back.  “Hey, it’s all right, buddy.  Happens to the best of us.  I gotta know, do you even _remember_ the sex?”

Cas squinted at him, tilting his head to the side.  “No one…has asked me that.  Come to think of it…” his gaze dropped to the ground, then shot up to met Dean’s with that light-bulb-flash in the ocean of his baby blues.  “I don’t believe I recall anything.”

“At least you know, beyond a doubt, she _wasn’t_ anything special.  I wouldn’t worry about it too much.  If you can’t remember, it means one of two things,” Dean flashed a pair of fingers, “You were so fucked up, you lost time.  Or you were so freaked out, you _purposefully_ blacked it out.  If she was really life-changing?  It should’a been fireworks—not missed time.”  
  
Dean leaned forward to stage-whisper, “Either way, just because you had sex with a woman, it _doesn’t_ change your gay credibility.”  While Dean was smiling and trying to help out, the pure scrutiny of Cas' watchful stare caused his grin to fade.  Carefully, he said, “Not that it’s any of my business, I just thought I'd—”

“You thought correctly,” Cas eased his mind, a half-smirk tugging on his cheeks.  “I’m thoroughly impressed.  I’ve spoken about this with a friend, with my brother, and their opinions got me into this mess.  I’ve known you for all of five minutes.   _You’ve_ asked all the questions that _should’ve_ been asked.  And it’s been you, alone, who eased my burden and my concerns.  You, Dean…you’re something special.”

“Nah…”  He swatted at Cas, fighting the pink tinge of a blush he knew damn well was on his cheeks.  “I understand what it’s like to fight labels.  I’m bisexual, and people don't get it—how 'it ain't real or I'm greedy.'  Hell, most think you'll just pick a side, and your 'phase is finally over.'  I've heard enough to know other people's opinions don't matter.  Yeah, it's frustrating, but it's important  _you_ feel confident in _yourself._  You know who you are, you don't have to guess, Cas.”

“I’ll say it again.”  There was more power, more conviction, behind his words, “You’re something special.”

When Cas rose to his feet and extended his hand, it was he who lingered this time.  “You’re going to make this night bearable.”

“Whattya say?  There’s strength in numbers!  I’ll keep an eye on you, you keep an eye on me: if either of us has a crisis, we give the signal and hightail it back here.”  Dean felt himself unintentionally bowing forward, drawn in towards Cas, as if they were magnets.

But he couldn’t push it!  He _had_ to be respectful, Dean wanted to make this work!  Get to know him and maybe…ask _him_ _out_ at the end of the night.  
  
_Jesus_ , the last thing Dean wanted was to jump the gun, come on too strong, and become another Ketch or Meg Version 2.0!  Maybe his own date's creep-factor was contagious and Dean caught some second-hand nastiness.  Gross.  
  
Currently, they were partners in crime, they were standing up together in solidarity.  He couldn’t mess that shit up, their strategy was worth more, here and now.

“Absolutely.  It's the best idea I've heard all night,” Cas said with palpable relief in his voice.  “You may be the one thing that keeps me going.”

“I know, I’m pretty badass,” Dean quipped with a wink.  “See ya soon, Cas!”

\---------------------  
  
Castiel’s night had been an absolute whirlwind.  
  
The anticipatory build of seeing Meg again, and the disappointment wasn’t merely a letdown—it was abject horror.  But then, much to his surprise, something _miraculous_ happened along the way.

His miracle came in the form of Dean Winchester.

This man had an uncanny way of putting things into perspective.  Of speaking in a way that Cas would understand—not merely listen.

In an awakened state of comprehension, he was finally able to stare Meg down for what she was.

Without the rolling coil in his gut.  Without his inner monologue screaming, demanding and berating himself, ‘ _how could you sleep with her?_ ’    
  
He’d spiraled into an existential crisis, until the moment Dean—someone Cas had never met, let alone conversed with—managed to say all the right words, encourage and support him.  Better than his closest friends had.

There was…a sense of reassurance.  In himself and who he was—joy that he _hadn’t_ changed.  

Cementing his poise came from a man across the restaurant who (remarkably enough) had his best interests in mind.  Castiel could only describe the helpful, outstretched hand in the middle of his calamity to be born from purity.  People these days, they lacked what Dean had in honesty and authenticity.  Cas already knew it was an integral part of Dean’s core—a moral compass couldn’t be faked.  
  
Of course, whether he knew or not, Cas was Dean's captive audience.  
  
Any attempt to keep his eyes away, to avoid this preoccupation, simply didn't work.  In any other instance, he may feel bad—but counting all the unique and exceptional puzzle pieces that made Dean's image offered an excellent way to pass the time—but Meg's...mindset was all over the place.  He could knock over the table and after two minutes, she'd ask him where her drink was.  
  
It gave him leeway and a sight line to his new friend. He could appreciate the big picture coming into focus, the final pieces of jigsaw locking together, solid proof: Dean wasn't only kind, he was flawless, walking eye candy.  Cas was only human, daydreaming conjecture of his own, but it was just that: harmless.  Although, he'd jump at the chance to prove it.    
  
The most perplexing mystery: how was a person like Dean set up with that haughty fool?  Blind date or not.

When Castiel had first arrived, he’d caught sight of the man in action.

First impressions confirmed, yes, he was attractive.  You’d have to be blind and dumb to deny it.

Except, the way he’d treated the wait staff when told they didn’t have his table ready immediately (Dean must have been outside on the phone or indisposed) was ugly.  It made every last modicum of appeal vanished.  
  
If there was one thing to ruin a nice package, it was harsh words and rude actions towards those trying to assist you.  To those doing their jobs as best they could.  Acting superior and entitled, quite literally forcing the staff wait on you hand and foot—like they were less than human.  Castiel was disgusted.  
  
God, he couldn’t imagine working here.  It was painful to visit as a diner, which begged the question: how many customers harassed the employees on a daily basis?  
  
No matter how gracious and hospitable the restaurant, how highly-praised and difficult to obtain a reservation, Cas wondered—were there actually people out there who _enjoyed_ their meals?

He knew Dean wasn’t fond of the food either.

This course wasn’t merely unsatisfying, it wasn’t appealing to his palette.  Oh, it looked like someone agreed—

Cas grinned as Dean’s eyes doubled and he swallowed down a gag.  
  
Watching Dean’s attempt to be sly, he spat out the food the instant Ketch turned away.  It was absolutely adorable.  
  
Dean’s motions were unassumingly small.  He kept his limbs tight and contained, as to not arouse suspicion, when he wadded up his napkin.  He turned right, then left, then looked up and over and—

Caught Cas staring right at him.

Dean blanched before his eyes flickered over to his date and sent over “the signal.”

Luckily, he didn’t need to construct an excuse this time.  Meg, being the class act she was, took a time-out from their dinner to ring up her dealer.  

Who on God’s green Earth couldn’t make it through a meal without arranging a meet-up prior to dessert?  
  
Meg truly was a piece of work.  Cas had messed up, getting involved with her in _any_ capacity…

\----------------

He wasn’t surprised to find Dean hunched over the sink, rinsing his mouth out with water.  It wasn’t until this exact moment that it dawned on Castiel.

And it wasn’t a gentle, off-handed note or nudge, no—he was bashed awake by a freight train—

Holy shit.

Of course, from the very beginning, Dean was undeniably stunning, caring, and mischievous.

It wasn’t until Cas had been gifted the sight of _this angle_ that he realized—extremely fast—Dean was absolutely fuckable.

Taking full advantage and drinking in the sight of Dean bent over at the waist, Cas’ thoughts ran wild—spinning fantasies of all the places _he_ could bend Dean over.  The sight of his plush lips glistening and parted, while glancing over at Cas with an impish glint, it stoked a fire.

Dean’s choice allowing the water to trickle, to drip, instead of grabbing a towel to pat his mouth dry seemed…deliberate. _Too_ goddamn _inciting_.  
  
But...there was one image initiating Cas' tunnel-vision.  It cut out the rest of the world out, leaving a fogged background.

More than any other salacious vision before him, Cas couldn’t rip his eyes from Dean’s ass and the way his legs bowed out before hitting the floor.  He was captivated, wondering how the curve of two perfect handfuls of asscheek would feel?  How Dean’s legs would do wrapped around his waist?  Like they were made for him?

Fuck—this _wasn’t_ planned nor was it supposed to!

Things changed.  Castiel wanted him—more than he’d wanted anyone before.

It was fun at the beginning, his savior turned into a friend.  Things easily and naturally shifted to amusement, excitement, growing every time they met.

Cas hadn’t planned on _this_ drastic turn.  This was on him.  Springing into his own head.  He couldn't deny it: the way he saw Dean had evolved.  Or rather, instead of a steady, chapter-by-chapter build—he'd skipped to the end of the book.  It was impossible to flip the light switch off, especially when it illuminated Dean fucking beautifully.    
  
Of course, he was attracted to him.  It was obvious, he’d never deny it.  
  
But, shit, it hadn’t been until he crossed through those doors that Cas saw his companion through different eyes.  
  
Studying Dean, taking in every nuanced piece before him and...lust knocked him on his ass!  Lust, newly combined with the fondness and appreciation he’d already had.  
  
God, Dean ticked all his boxes; could he be more perfect?  
  
He had to know, Dean much have spotted a tell, he was playing up a coy, shyness—because _he could_.  
  
Cas felt himself sinking.  While Dean already earned a special place in Castiel’s sentiments, a soft spot in his heart, now Cas hungered to take him—this was a _deadly_ combination.  
  
Standing before him was a person Cas could see himself with.  If Dean’s portrayal was accurate and they continued following this easy chemistry, Cas was filled with hope it might even work out.  The new twist in tonight’s plot sent him reeling—shit, where was his control?!

Castiel abruptly cleared his throat and leaned against the wall, asking, “What was it you couldn’t even attempt to swallow?  I need to know what to avoid on the menu.”

“Ah!”  Dean spit out the final round of water before popping a piece of gum in his mouth, “Dude, you _weren’t_ supposed to see that.  I’m not trying to be an absolute savage tonight, it keeps happening…”

“Let it happen…” Cas didn’t know why he said that, or why he took a step in before regaining his thoughts.  “What I meant was, I was _thoroughly_ entertained.  You’ve done wonders for my morale already.  I enjoy you uncensored.  You can’t imagine how refreshing it is, someone being who they say they are.  And you’re exactly that.”

“And you’re much chattier this time.”  Dean matched him and took a step in, close enough to smell the cold mint on his breath.  “Did my words sink in?  You feelin’ better about your situation?”

Exploring the details of Dean up close—temptingly close, while gambling on his own self-restraint—was a gift.

Cas’ revelation had turned his world upside down and changed everything.  His eyes were greedy when memorizing the color of Dean’s own.  Mapping every sharp freckle that had previously been blurred from a distance, briefly noting the pink of Dean’s lips.  And soon, the barest of blushes...as Dean backed down.

Reacting instead of thinking, Cas reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm, pulling him into his previous footsteps.  He quickly said, “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.  I’m certain you‘re frequently informed how striking you are.  I was momentarily taken.  My anxiety had distracted me, and I didn’t appreciate you properly the first time—you‘re extremely attractive.”

“Oh, w-wow,” Dean was suddenly a stammering, stumbling mess, and with Cas’ grazing touch lingering on him, he wasn’t sure what to do.  Finally, Dean laughed at himself and responded, “You’re not so bad yourself, you know?  And, uh, thanks.  That’s actually kinda nice, never had someone really phrase it like that, but it's good.  You—” he wagged a finger, “keep me on my toes!”

With a chuckle, Cas released his grip, “I assume you’re referring catcalls or unsavory fools in general?”  He began walking backwards, seeing and knowing he'd garnered Dean’s absolute, undivided attention.  “I’d never dream of it.  Although, if you’d like an ego boost, please _do_ arrange another meeting.  I have countless notes I can make about you…”

“Really, do you n— _Ow_!”  Flustered, Dean had smashed right into the edge of the sink, clipping his hip bone.  He double over again, growling and grunting. “ _Motherfucker_ —!”

Now the sight of Dean’s scrumptious ass was fresh in his mind, closer than before, all over again.  And with his flirtations accepted, Cas _had_ to get out of there!  

Together, they were building a structure—something resembling a relationship, brick by brick.  Silent teasing across the restaurant, by cocky answer.  Meeting by meeting.  Still, they were very fragile and Cas wished (no, it was _essential_ ) to see where this could lead.  If a new beginning was developing, he’d see it through and race towards it by  _proper_ steps.  
  
Even when all he wanted was to take advantage of Dean bent over—

“Soon,” Cas promised with a hinted sharp edge, vying for Dean to acknowledge him before his exit.

When Dean glanced up, the look on his face was filled with delight and thrill, confirming, “You bet your ass.”

No, Castiel wished to bet _Dean’s_ ass…but that was a goal for a different day.  God, he was bursting at the seams, hungry for when  _that day_ arrived _._

He must tread carefully, strategically, in hopes of accomplishing everything by the playbook.  Luck was already on his side, having made something out of thin air.  If there was one thing Cas dreaded, his worst case scenario: it would be finding someone like Dean, only to lose touch.  Going through the experience of two lives briefly passing, only to go their separate ways.  
  
Sheer force of will fueled Castiel, he _would_  make tonight worth remembering.  
  
He'd accepted the rolling in his gut, Cas felt the blossoming warmth of a story starting out for them.  One that was sensational, extending well beyond their original goal.  Surviving tonight.  
  
Castiel had to prove he was worth it—that he had much more to offer than his company for one evening.  That he was more than a distraction, he and Dean would make a good team outside of the restroom lounge, they could fine-tune their relationship into something so much better...and he would.

Countless ideas sprung to mind, all centered around how they could enjoy themselves, by themselves—with _one another_.  As though their initial dates didn’t exist, and their private meeting were more than their own little worlds: they were their _entire worlds_. 

From what he knew so far?  Cas believed Dean would adore his foremost idea, as well.    
  
…Maybe it would be enough to pave the way for Cas to gain permission to enjoy _Dean_.  
  
\------------------------

The pair had met up two more times after their brief flicker of sexual tension, continuing to grow closer and learn as much as they could about one another during their fleeting ‘speed dates.’  
  
Neither would admit to the rising temperatures, because...this was nothing more than hanging out, right?  ‘In solidarity’...  
  
Yeah, whatever.  That’s what they told themselves, even with their attraction blazing like a forest fire under their skin.  
  
Both men remained undeterred by whatever their dates awkwardly assumed by their excessive bathroom breaks.  
  
Luckily, with alcohol involved: they utilized the guise of ‘breaking the seal.’  
  
And on the third (becoming reckless) rendezvous—Cas surprised the hell out of Dean.

The pace had changed, Cas had been the one to lock eyes from across the dining area, giving him that adorable little cat-like squint, proceeding to the bathroom.  
  
Fuck, Dean couldn’t get enough.  Each time, he was more eager to see Cas than the last he had, which was part of the reason discretion was slowly but surely falling by the wayside.  Part of him was worried they’d be found out soon, the other part?  
  
Wanted to be wherever Cas was, whenever he friggin could—rest of the world be damned!  
  
But...Dean couldn’t show it.  He played it off like a pro!  Or so he hoped.  
  
Cas was unlike anyone he’d met, in this crazy-ass love-at-first-sight-way and he was going to fight for their time!  Dean had to keep their well-oiled ploy in motions, all of it: _this had to work_.  
  
The more math Dean did, the more anxious he became about how much longer they’d be able to get away with it.  
  
He was banking on the night ending, but Ketch wasn’t in a hurry to leave anytime soon.  The minuscule portions just kept on coming, leading to more shitty conversations, leading to Dean’s wandering eyes, leading to his yearning to be with Cas…  
  
Silver lining?  Maybe after two million plates of this shit, he’d _finally_ lose the ache of this twinging hunger pangs.

When Dean excused himself he aimed for grace and subtly.  No matter how much Ketch was driving him up the wall, he didn’t want to make a scene.  Fuck knows he _could_ (he’d done it in the past with dudes who totally overstepped their bounds), but if he pitched a fit, they’d leave.  And then...he couldn’t see Cas, he had an obligation to stick it out with Meg.  
  
Or worse yet, maybe _Cas_ wouldn’t want to see him at all, ever—if he acted like a goddamn child, throwing tantrums.  
  
It was give and take, a delicate balancing act, and he wasn't gonna jack up the best part of the night.  Maybe even the best part of his month.  Or—

Ketch’s eyebrow sharply shot up as Dean’s chair slid back.  Before he could rise to his feet, Ketch pronounced, “I believe we should swap liquor for water.  How does that sound?”

In Dean’s head, his scream of ‘ _hell fucking no_ ,’ was a gut-reaction, refusing to be sabotaged.  But there were still ways to avoid his date’s prying eye.  He knew that, he had to keep a cool head!  
  
Instead, Dean took it in a completely different direction: deciding to play a game.

Dean didn’t leave right away, no matter how fuckin’ bad he wanted to.  Instead, he scooted back in.  
  
He leaned on his palm, elbow propped up on the table and glowered.  In a critical voice, Dean wondered, “It’ll only ‘sound good’ if I know what influenced the choice, and why you assume it’s _your_ right to impose it on _me_.”  
  
For the very first time, Ketch shifted in his seat.  He looked unnerved trying to come up with the proper words.  Except Dean already had those—he had ‘em in spades.  
  
“Let's turn this question into a multiple choice.”  He drummed his fingers along the overly-elegant wood that probably cost more than his rent.  “Does drunk me piss you off?”  
  
“Oh, God, _no_ ,” Ketch’s shock by the mere concept appeared genuine, which was good—Dean said it to get under his skin.  Riling him up was exactly the reaction he wanted.  
  
Oh yeah, his idea was working.  He needed to keep pushing the envelope!  
  
Dean resolved an overwhelming rapid-fire assault was the way to go.  Especially since Ketch was rattled, on the defensive and it would feel fucking amazing.  Dean finally (hallelujah!) had a legit topic to hound him about, he would take it.  
  
There was no more walking on eggshells, monitoring and editing every word outta his mouth.  He couldn't be blamed for  _starting_ a fight, no way!  This whole time, Dean was stressed out about Jo—he was biting his tongue and undergoing cruel and unusual punishment.  For her benefit.  
  
See, Dean refused to give her any fodder.  If the date went to shit, Jo would blame him—assuming _Dean_ was a brat, kicking and screaming, digging his heels in and never 'giving the date a chance.'  
  
Hell no!  Dean had given him a wide berth— _JesusChrist_ —he’d given Ketch a fuckin’ _coastline_!  
  
This evening had broken all kinds of records—this wasn’t who Dean was.  Normally, he’d have hit the road about two hours ago but _no_.  He’d stuck it out.  Enduring torture.  He had been the ideal, well-behaved, witty, charming and smart guy _anyone_ could shoot the breeze with.  

When Ketch opened his damn mouth, Dean knew he wouldn’t make it to dessert—  
  
But then he got lucky.  There was Cas.   Cas wasn’t just the reason to keep going—he _was_ the icing on top of the cake.  

Mm, Dean wanted to make _Cas_ dessert...

Oh, dammit!  He was in the lounge, sitting, still friggin waiting on him, too!  
  
Dean glowered at Ketch, cutting to the chase and going for the kill.  “If you're not pissed at me, does that mean you think I can’t hold my liquor?  This is nothing.  This is Sunday brunch!  With the drinks are so expensive, you haven’t seen _nothin’_.  Or does it offend you I gotta piss like a racehorse—pardon my French, or don't—but that’d be a really weird thing to get all, well, _weird_ about.”  He scoffed and folded his arms.  “ _Oh_ , it looks like you think it’s weird.”  
  
Hell yes, Ketch was completely speechless.  And Dean was on a roll—powering through while he dared to be himself.  Who he _actually_ _was._   For the first time.  At _this table_.  That person happened to be colorful.  
  
Dean gestured to his dates drink next.  “You’re just sippin' your scotch, and I get it, enjoy it, you get what you pay for.  Anatomy lesson?  If you were drinking beer like me, you’d be clearing room for more beer, too.  It’s gotta go some place!  Or are you worried the cost of those drinks racking up are gonna break the bank?  Might've been nice to look at the menu ahead of time.”  He stood abruptly, looming over Ketch and snapped a finger, “There’s only one right answer in that multiple-choice quiz.  Hope you can figure out which,” and then pranced his happy ass off to the bathroom.  
  
A rush of adrenaline and a clear victory on his side had Dean feeling on top of the world!  Especially because he was on his way to see the only person who mattered tonight. Who knew—maybe his verbal bitch-slapping on Ketch would end their night early and a mention might make Cas do the same.  
  
If Cas was even a quarter as into him, as Dean was into Cas, _God_ , they could have the time of their lives—

When he pushed beyond the door, that amazing, rumbling and hella sexy voice chuckled, “What happened out there?  I thought you were right behind me.  I would’ve checked but I’m afraid that once I closed the door, I needed to stay hidden.”  There was something defiant in the way he pronounced, “I wouldn’t want to look desperate.  Counting the minutes.  Waiting on your arrival.  Or accidentally alert our dates something’s going on.  On the bright side, while waiting, I confirmed we’re currently, completely alone.”

Dean couldn't stop smirking if he tried.  Fuck yeah, he _loved_ the idea of a desperate Cas, he loved the idea of an unforgivingly truthful one even more.  Why did he put those ideas in Dean’s head?!  
  
And what’s more—Dear Lord, Cas’ suggestive remark about it only being the two of them?  If that wasn’t some kind of invitation, the kind Dean had prayed for, he didn’t know what was!  
  
He took the opportunity and rolled with it.  Dean advanced, feeling brave while boxing Cas in when he explained, “I finally, _finally_ got the chance to give Ketch hell.  He started it, givin’ me grief ‘bout the drinks.  He was talkin’ about cutting me off, like a goddamn kid.  But you know what?”

“I do,” Castiel confirmed with a wild grin.  “No one cuts off Dean Winchester.  I’ve got a present for you, in honor of your victory…”

_Shit_ , there were so many way he could take that.  Every last one ignited a lustful surge charging his already-amped up body.  Between their proximity, their slow-but-sure escalation, the newly emboldened flashes of desire in Cas’ eyes—God, did Dean wanna to kiss him...

When Cas dropped to his knees, Dean’s barked, abrupt, “ _Holy shit_!” echoed in the bathroom, was this really happening or—?!  
  
Oh...

No.  It wasn’t.  Oops.

Castiel had fallen to his haunches because he was rifling through the cabinet under the sink.  
  
He paused long enough to playfully teased, “Oh.  Is _that_ something you’d be interested in?” glancing up, Dean’s face a fierce color of scarlet.    
  
_Oh, hell_ —knowing Cas knew, that it was all out in the open, Dean’s hand shot over his face, covering his eyes.  He’d come from a slam dunk and immediately struck out, not just that—it was a foul, he was kicked out of the game, the season!  
  
Cas’ words sounded louder somehow, now that he was unable to see.  “I have something that may…grease the wheels.”

As those words were pitched deliberately and sinfully low—Castiel stood up.  
  
And, no, Dean didn’t need to _see_ him—because he could _feel him!_  Cas friggin rolled up through his spine, every inch of _his body_ brushing against every quivering inch of _Dean’s_ on his journey to stand, and—

Cas most definitely _felt_ (not just _saw_ , friggin _felt_ ) the erection Dean was urgently trying to will down.  "I see.”  His voice was absolutely enthralled when he said, “You truly enjoyed me on my knees, didn’t you?”

“ _Shoot me_ ,” Dean hissed, still blocking his sight.  It wasn’t until Cas grabbed both his wrists and _pried_ them away (damn, that was a strong grip!) that he noticed Cas wasn’t bothering to hide his own arousal anymore.  Both of them were too far gone, Dean knew it, and he said, “You’re gonna kill me…you know that?”  
  
“I’m quite happy this, _we_ , are reaching a crescendo.  Even if you’re not appreciating my gift,” he feigned a frown, then a hard, heavy object was slapped in Dean’s hand.  Cas manipulated his fingers to curl around it as to not drop the bottle.  Yes—a bottle.

Oh boy, Dean lit up like the Fourth of July!  
  
While ripping past the seal, Dean demanded, “Dude, how much was this!?  Top-shelf whiskey, _here_?  Plus risking your life to sneak it away from Meg's grabby hands and into the goddamn _bathroom_?”  Dean chugged directly from the mouth.  
  
Okay, _wow_.  Maybe there was a method to the madness, and a reason for the price tag, after all—Dean had never been given the chance to compare anything that qualified as 'fancy.'   God, that liquor slinked like velvet, flowing down his throat.  
  
As much as he enjoyed it, Dean knew the right thing things to do.  That was vehemently urging, “Cas, no way in hell.  You gotta tell ’em to take it back.  I can’t be _that_ guy, the dude you think you need to impress—”

Suddenly, Cas snatched the bottle with a shit-eating grin and took a couple long swigs.  “What if I said, yes, I wished to impress you.  But not in the way you think.  This fifth was… _well-earned._   It’s just for us tonight."  He casually added, "And well-deserved.  After all, the damn bartender didn't even notice me sneaking it out from under his nose.  That makes it on the house.  He must have been high—this isvery large.”

Dean gasped and grabbed Cas’ hips, spellbound and more infatuated than ever.  “You _stole_ this?!”  He reached back to the full whiskey bottle and cackled, chugging more.  “Suck it, Ketch, I ain’t slowing down!  And I’ve landed  _best_ friggin _date_ out there—my upgrade is...right here.”  The second half of Dean’s announcement fell softer, lower in timbre, as he hooked his thumbs in Cas’ belt loops.  
  
They were only a breath apart and the air between them was heavy—it was hard to breathe, lungs tight enough to feel the hammering of hearts.  
  
They’d been close before, but never this close.  It was enough to drive them crazy.

“Fuck—” Cas’ voice was shaken, he tried to counter Dean’s words, to continue momentum—refusing to let them freeze.  All while he muffled his excitement was bursting over the brim.  “Would you deem this an affair?  Is he your boyfriend this evening and I’m the ‘other man?’”  Intrigued and sensual, he covered Dean's hands with his own, his touch...making the speed of Dean's heart superhuman.

God, the way Cas slowly caressed is forearms in a simple seduction, barely skating over his skin made him shiver...

Those nimble finger tips traced the outline of Dean’s muscles and every sensitive line, curve or valley over his clothes—rising—coming to rest looped around Dean's neck.  
  
In that moment, with Cas’ arms around him and Dean’s grip steady and certain in return, nothing else existed besides Cas.  It felt familiar, the entire night between them had been a crowbar seeking out a fissure, and finally—the prying had been set in motion.  

“Nah, no affair.  Nothing that complicated, no love triangle bullshit.  It's real easy, Cas: everything I need is here.”  Dean was downright shocked his confession came so effortlessly.    
  
Because words like that had never been natural to Dean.  He wasn't suave or good with genuine admissions, conversations, he usually froze right up and choked on half-formed thoughts.  Cas brought it out of him.

Dean’s response drew out a smile from Cas, not a smirk, and he brushed his nose along the edge of Dean’s jaw.  “Let’s celebrate our secret date with more contraband.  And I’d like to make these future plans less tentative.  Much more concrete.”

“You’re into it?” Dean asked in sheer wonder, taking the fifth and pulling a large gulp, _needing_ to know Cas wasn’t fucking with him—

They already had a fantastic shorthand from reading one another’s body language across the room.  A feat that took most couples years to perfect.  Dean felt confident he could get a good read if only Cas was facing him, if they linked up, connected.  It was so damn important to delve behind Cas' gaze.  He couldn’t get his hopes up, Dean...felt too invested already, it seemed too good to be true.

Finally, Cas retracted from where he’d been gliding, barely brushing an affectionate touch, across Dean’s neck and cleanly-shaven cheek.

Well, _fuck_ , once Dean locked eyes with Cas, once his previously anxious stomach rolled over and filled with another spectrum of emotions—he _let himself believe._  
  
Cas’ expression was open, honest, beautiful—he agreed, “I’m very into it.  I hope you’re not toying with me, since you _are_ the reason I haven't swan dived from a roof.  The only way I can mute Meg’s volume is by imaging what your lips taste like…”

“Whiskey?” Dean helpfully suggested, he could feel that damn blush making a comeback.  The giddiness also made him stupid, only coming up with, “Fuck yeah, we’re concrete the hell out of a real date.”

Thinking he caught a flashing grin, Cas tipped the bottle, “Another round?” and they both took long chugs before he strategically hid it back underneath the sink.

Staying true to their plan, Cas exited first: he’d been the one to make contact and initial entry.  Now that Dean was alone, he was struggling with the notion this was real—had he fucking died somewhere along the way?  Did Ketch kill him?  That was a very real possibility—the guy was a narcissist, a sociopath, so murder wasn't a far leap.  
  
Still, Dean wasn’t complaining, although he wondered what he'd done to land this awesome kind of Heaven.  
  
Maybe the difficult part, the main reason he had trouble grasping the whole kit-n-kaboodle, was because of how long it’d been since he was this happy.  Which was actually pretty sad, when he thought about it.  
  
Dean was excited and buzzing from the anticipatory energy...thinking ahead to a time where he'd be with Cas, and _only Cas._  Free from the baggage of another date—the build-up was, as with each of their rendezvous, addicting.

Another pathetic fact: Dean was used to odds stacked against him.  So what were the odds of finding something—or someone—real, by chance tonight?

All right!  It was time for Dean to put his money where his mouth was and get back to work!  
  
With the grand finale on the horizon, if Dean ever needed a reason to finish—he just received prime _,_ Grade-A motivation.  
  
The goal was to make it through without incident.  His very first incentive was _getting away_ from Ketch.    
  
Now, it was being _with Cas_.

Dean had previously been hyper-aware of the clock, willing time to fly by, but that'd changed: now he didn't want the night to end.  Only certainportions.  Once he swapped out the company.

Honest-to-God, Cas was a fuckin’ prince—Dean had only known frogs.  Hell, he prayed maybe-possible-hopefully Cas something similar.  Deciding to continue far beyond tonight, that Cas wasn't in search of a nightcap.  Maybe...Cas felt struck by his lightening, too…

Given their surrounding, it was fitting they’d discover each other in the middle of an army of ‘em—damn frogs...

\---------------------

There was no doubt Meg thought he had a bladder leak or an STD, by the number of times he’d rushed off to the bathroom.  Yes, _rushed_.  
  
At the beginning, Castiel could control his speed and keep at a meaningful march, even a casual amble, but at this phase, combined with everything they’d been through and already built—Cas couldn’t keep away.    
  
It was a mad dash to be reunited.  
  
These hiatuses were the only way he could to counter the knock-out blow that was Meg Masters.  He longed to move past this dark chapter in his life, then burn the pages.  He could start when picturing Dean, getting lost in him—  
  
Had love at first ‘Help Me’ been documented?  They may be the first case.

“That’s it!”  Apparently, Dean decided something—catching Cas abruptly off guard the moment he swung in—continuing, “We’re fixing this, right here, right now!  I'm done!”

“W-what do you mean?”  Cas’ brow furrowed, speech a bit slurred, as Dean snatched out the liquor hidden under the sink, chugging like his life depended on it.

Cas was unsure of his words, his choice of phrase.  Dean seemed to be seeking courage at the bottom of that bottle.  It was unsettling, Cas prayed he didn't want to pull the plug, end to their meetings.   _Fuck_ , had he done something to—?

“Strength in numbers, right?”  Dean lit up like a madman, shoving the fifth into Cas’ lax hand.  Dean reached out to grasp Cas' shoulder, pulling them back towards the lounge, veering and swerving from his buzz.  “We integrate!  So we can’t separate!  And we don’t have to do… this.  Even though it _is_ fun,” he chuckled on a suggestive note.  
  
An alarming, dull thud jarred them both, and that's when they realized someone was trying to get into the bathroom.  Somehow Dean had navigated them too far, his back leaning against the entrance to the lounge, blocking it.

“Dean!  Are you…okay in there?  Are you sick?”

Oh no.  The voice belonged to his date.

“ _Shit_!”  Dean's eyes doubled and he moved like a tornado.  
  
He seized the bottle, grabbed Cas' wrist and took off sprinting.  Dean rushed them down the corridor until they hit a dead end and he swept Cas into the handicapped stall with him.  Dean slammed the door shut, flipped the lock, and in a moment of panic—

Dean scooped Cas up into his arms so his feet wouldn’t show underneath the stall walls—  
  
It was the only thing that made sense at the time!

The door swung open, Ketch's heavy stomps echoed as he marched in and Dean was straining.  Holding a full-grown man, bridal-style would do that.  
  
He fought to grunt out, “Fine!  I-I'm a'okay!  Be out soon!”

Castiel’s opening glee turned wicked when the man outside began to pace.  Like he was laying in wait!  And with every passing minute, Dean’s cheeks turned from fuchsia to scarlet—the exertion and dilemma wearing him thin.  
  
“C’mon, give me a little privacy,” Dean tried again in a croaked out spat.

With the bottle safely deposited in Cas’ hands (plus, there wasn't much else to do), he took a swig, fighting the urge to crack up at the ridiculousness of it all.  
  
He found himself on the receiving end of a fierce glare, but Cas wasn't deterred one bit.  Dean wasn’t particularly threatening when they were glued together.  He was more distracting than anything.  
  
In truth, Cas was savoring every second: they were touching on almost every surface because of Dean’s belligerent choice.  The blush on his face made Dean’s body run hot and it extended to Cas’, soaking in his heat.  He wound up with the better end of the deal, actually—his winning continued to grow.  
  
He relished the accident, indulging, feeling the lines of Dean’s body while fighting a stirring between his legs.  He had an idea to combat it—lessen the load on Dean.  Sort of.  
  
Cas tried to help out: bringing the bottle to Dean’s lips.

The poor angle resulted in the hearty serving of booze, missing its mark by a hair.  Well, more than a hair.  Most of it splashed against Dean's cheeks before trickling down his chin and neck.  Maybe some went _into_ his actual mouth?  Cas' 'hearty serving' was better described as a straight-up dousing.  
  
When Ketch finally left the bathroom and lounge completely—

It was Cas who didn’t think this time.  He leaned forward, wrapped up in warmth, feeling entangled in all things Dean, and cleaned up the mess of dribbling liquor.

With his mouth.

“ _Fucking hell_ —” Dean cursed in a low growl, and the bottom fell out of Cas’ world, being dropped—

And then promptly shoved against the wall.

Instead of the length of neck he previously had his tongue on, Cas now had lips on his own.  Dean was kissing him hard and pinning him down.  Gasping, surging into the kiss was a dream.  Cas finally met the plush lips he’d been gaping at, hungry to taste, all night.  
  
God, did Cas want to taste _all of him_ —

The sound of shattering glass made them freeze and slowly pull away.

Cas cleared his throat and asked gruffly, “Who was holding the, uh, booze?”

“No one, I guess…” Dean snorted and heaved a sigh.  “We need to get outta here.”

“I wish those words were in a different context,” Cas sighed, knowing that his new friend was only referring to the bathroom stall.  “Before, when you came in.  You were saying something about strength in numbers?”  
  
“Oh—”  His attention was flitting all over, all while tugging them both towards the mirrors to tidy up their appearance.  Except, Dean’s hand lingered.  He didn’t want to let go of Cas.  “We tell ‘em the truth.  Why we’ve been running back and forth, because—”  
  
“I’m taking you home with me tonight?” Cas supplied, raising an arched eyebrow and pitching his tone to a place that nearly made Dean buckle, knees going weak.

From the sounds of it, Cas was being dead serious.

“No!” he squeaked, flushed a brand-new hue of red, “I mean, I-I mean that’s not, like, off the table.  I just mean that—” Dean blew out through his lips.  “Let me start again?”

Seeing him so ruffled and worked up…it got Castiel every time.  He was quite happy with his work.  Knowing he had an effect on Dean brought Cas unending delight, he wanted to push buttons and boundaries, do so much more.  In fact, he went ahead and closed in—taking advantage of their joined hand and kissing Dean’s cheek.  “Go ahead.  I’ll behave.”

“Hah, that'll be the day.  Back to what I was saying, uh, so we tell them we’ve been catching up.  That we’re friends, we've known each other forever, and we make it a _double-date_.  Easy sailing, we ride it out together.  They can entertain each other, while we…” he paused, waiting for _something_ from Cas.  

He was anticipating something dirty, some lewd comment, something—

“While we…?” Castiel waited patiently, and Dean laughed.  
  
Just when Dean thought he was one step ahead of him, Cas proved him wrong.

“While _we_ relax and wait for _our_ time to come,” Dean said decisively.  “Your table or mine?”

“Mine,” Castiel answered instantly.  “Meg’s scared away anyone within a mile radius of her.  It’ll be easy to pull in two chairs.  Couple tables.  Multiple countries.”

This, _them_ , what they had was unlike any connection he’d made before—the fact it was only in its infancy was fucking insane.  Maybe the same kind of crazy made Dean bold.  He chuckled and tilted his chin, “When this wraps, you and me can get into something downright _spiritual_.”

“Oh yeah?”  With both attention and arousal piqued, Castiel had to warn him, “Don’t tempt me.  We may never leave this washroom.  The fact no one had rushed in here to clean up the broken glass tells me it’s very… _soundproof_.”

Dean’s posture shot up and he bit his lip, mind running wild with ideas.  “Damn.  You’re right—”

“No.  No, we can’t linger, I won't be able to keep my hands to myself,” Cas warned and shook his head abruptly.  “Obligations. _Then_ what’s good for the soul.”

“The gay soul,” Dean emphasized, squeezing Cas’ hand as they headed for the door.  “Can’t have you messin’ that up again. For both‘a us.”

“Oh, Dean—trust me.”  He raked his eyes over Dean, inch by inch, from head to toe, “I won’t be messing that one up ever again.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was for the best they had shattered the fifth of liquor in the bathroom, because both Cas and Dean were giggling as they exited, staggered out.  Their giddy feeling was short-lived, because Ketch had been outside.  
  
Waiting for Dean.  Being a creep, when he’d demanded privacy!  Nope, that wasn’t normal.  
  
If _this_ wasn’t future red-flag material for anyone who dated this dude?  Dean didn’t know what was.  
  
Sure, the sight of Ketch made Dean shoot to attention feeling a bit more sober, but he could work with this.  It might even be a blessing in disguise, since they were looking for a fast way to implement their plan.  Ketch, right here, right now, was a go.

“Hey! Perfect timing!”  Dean dared to make a move.  He needed to _commit_ for this to work, and did so by grabbing the man’s hands.  “Ketch, this is my good friend, Cas! Remember how early in the night, I thought I saw someone that I knew?  Turns out, I did!  How about we get our dessert and finish our drinks over with him and his gal?”

A flooding awareness washed over Dean when both Ketch and Cas ogled at their joined hands.  Dean glanced over to see Cas’ nostrils flared, his fists clenched.  But it was all an attempt to coax the nut-job (the friggin lunatic who’d been laying in wait) right outside the bathroom, into _their_ plan!

This was a distraction away from their dates—and, fuck, did they need one!

Thanks to Cas and his shitty aim, Dean smelled like liquor—he’d been doused in it.  
  
...Well...Cas had made up for it...assisting the clean job with his talented tongue...  
  
All of which Ketch _couldn’t_ know about!  
  
Both of them probably looked well-and-recently fucked to the outside world!  Friggin Cas’ hot hands tugging Dean’s hair, then the bottle incident, they had next to no time to fix the damage before ditching out.  
  
So now it was a matter of diverting and channeling Ketch’s focus.  If some innocent hand-holding would do it?  Dean would put out in _that_ way.  
  
Strategically adding the tiny ‘fact’ that Cas had a gal?   _Automatically_ took him off the suspect list.  That’s what Dean wanted.  Time with Cas to wait out Ketch, then...all the time with Cas he could get.

“Yes.  I’d like it very much.  If you joined us.”  Cas punched out the words, and even though they were painfully forced, Ketch was already agreeing.

“That sounds lovely,” he decided, and squeezed Dean’s hand—sending a shiver of ‘eww’ down his spine.  “I’ll grab our beverages and meet you two over there, all right?”

Oh, what the hell—!?  
  
Out of _nowhere_ , Ketch took it a step further.  He leaned in and fearlessly pecked a kiss onto Dean’s cheek.  Like all of a sudden, their horrible date took a turn for the better because of some sad little skin contact?  Now they were a happy couple?  Did he have _eyes_?  Or a brain, for fuck’s sake!   _Dear lord—_

With a nervous laugh, ready to run, Dean tried to fake it—he was pretty much a professional by now.  
  
“Okay.  See you, uh, soon.”

Then he pivoted back towards Cas, who was fuming.  
  
The booze was _not_ doing him any favors, because Cas’ poker face had been washed down the drain with the whiskey.  Even though Dean was kinda preening inside, he knew they couldn’t face down a table of ‘double-dates’ with Cas tweaking out like this.

He took a step in, so no one could hear him when he whispered, “Cas.  We’re so close.  We’re gonna hit the finish line soon, we’ll do it together.  And you know what happens after that?”

With his jaw set and his eyes burning holes into Ketch’s back, Cas wasn’t even paying attention to Dean.  Not even a little.  He was absently going through the motions when he asked a faraway, “What?”

Although he wanted to huff in exasperation, Dean chose a different method.  A _better_ method.  Hopefully, to garner a better response.  
  
“I’m headed home.  With _you_.”  Finally, he received a flicker of a glance, and with a shark-like grin, Dean crooned, “I plan on fixing your crisis.  Seeing it through to the end.  I can help you remember  _exactly_ how much you like men.”

Cas sucked in a breath, his brow slightly furrowed, as he began to unhurriedly follow Dean back to the table.  “Are you…saying what I think you’re saying…?”

“If you can suck up your petty jealousy long enough to finish this marathon with me, then yeah.”  Dean shot him a wink.  “Okay, dude, now introduce me to your Goddess.”

They made a wide turn to see Meg on her phone, texting away, a straw hanging out of her mouth.  With a loud hiccup, she set the glass down and picked up the shot next to her.   
  
...How did she get that?  And how was Cas supposed to pay for all of this?!

“Meg, I found an old, dear friend having dinner with a date of his own tonight.  This is Dean.  Is it all right if he and his present company joins us?” Cas was already grabbing two chairs to add to the table, while Meg was giving Dean a once-over.

“Mm, more playthings?  I’m fine with that.”  Once they were seated, she leaned forward, her voice dropping to something surprisingly focused, critical.  “Oh, I forgot I never asked you, Clarence!  How do you feel about threesomes?  Orgies?”

Dean’s hand slapped over his mouth before he could make an inappropriate noise.  Not like anyone was in the vicinity to hear him, but this woman was dead-fucking-serious!  Like this was a _normal_ conversation about the friggin weather and—

God bless Cas, he was unfazed, he almost looked bored.  “Meg.  I didn’t bring Dean over here—with or without his date—to invite them into the bedroom.”

“But…” Meg drew out the word in a sing-song way, “What if _I_ sealed the deal and talked to them for you?  I'm  _very_ compelling when delivering a tempting invitation.  Besides, _c’mon_!”  Meg boisterously gestured to Dean, “He’s totally your type!  It was like he was made for you to fuc—”

“Okay!” Dean attempted to drown her out with a flurry of loud clapping, seeing that Ketch was right behind her and hopefully (he prayed, _JesusfuckingChrist_ , did he pray) maybe he’d be enough to keep her in line.  “Meg, this is Ketch!  Ketch, this is Meg—Cas’ date for the evening.”

When he approached, Meg jumped a mile-high in her seat.  Cas wondered if during one of their many meetups, she’d had her own date with a few lines of coke in the Ladies Room.  There was definitely a mystery stimulant in her system, he couldn’t pinpoint which one.

Ketch set down the drinks then shook Meg’s hand, both Cas and Dean were terrified to hear what the fuck would come out of her mouth.

Meg shocked them both by smiling politely and nodding at him.  “It’s very nice to meet you.  What are the odds our boys ran into each other at a random place like this?”

“It is funny, indeed, how these things work out,” Ketch confirmed, sliding Dean’s drink closer to him.  “I enjoy meeting the friends of those I date,” Dean had to hold back a cringe, Ketch going on to say, “It tells me a lot about who I’m with.  Through their own relationships.  Now, Cas—”

Oh, no.  Dean knew that tone.  Ketch was winding himself up.  Was this about to be an interrogation?  
  
While Dean froze on the spot, Cas rose to the challenge by puffing up like an alpha male.  
  
It didn’t look like BFF reaction-material, but what the shit could Dean do?!  Hell, Cas looked like he wanted to take this outside.  Go five rounds in a battle to the death, all over who was allowed to call Dean their ’date,’ even though the word was so…fickle!

The waitress swooped in with a round of shots for everyone, saying they were on the house.  Dean felt sick, he knew this ‘offering’ was a way to butter them up so the bill didn’t hurt as bad.  Seeing that slip of paper, it was going to be as painless as removing a kidney with a plastic knife.

Dean wasn’t sure if Ketch was intrigued by Cas or he truly saw him as a threat.

Wow, Dean got some instant karma, punching him right in the nose the next second!  A taste of his own medicine, came in the form of watching Meg loop her arm through Cas’ and cling ( _hanging_ off) off him.  
  
See—there was a difference here.  Ketch, while overbearing, didn’t have a chance with Dean.  Cas could get all sexy and particular—but this guy?  He was already old news before the date was even over.  
  
Meg, on the other hand, was a different story.  
  
_Of course,_ Dean knew she didn’t have a chance with Cas, he was appalled by her and her existence.  But the fact they _had_ , indeed, _banged_?  That held some weight!  So yeah, Dean _was_ jealous watching the woman who already knew the feel of Cas’ touch, the feeling of his body, _and_ the way he used it, all up in his business!  
  
Even when this was Dean’s plan in the first place.   _Motherfucker—_  
  
He and Cas had been in a time capsule, suspended in motion getting to know one another as the rest of the world was paused.  That damn bathroom, there had to be some kind of voodoo, powerful magic or witchcraft there!  
  
It had been much too short a time for Dean to feel jealousy like this!  It was _crazy_ , he felt ripped and tossed through those ugly waves, and it was real!  So friggin real.  
  
What he felt for Cas was undeniable and—

“How did you two meet?” Ketch inquired with a welcoming timbre, and _just_ when they thought he was done, he spat out the tongue-twister demands of, “What’s his favorite color?  Favorite cuisine?  When’s Dean’s birthday?  Does he have siblings?  When was the last time—”

“Hold up!” Dean swatted at Ketch, snipping, “What the fuck are you doing?  Do _you_ even know the answer to _any_ those?!”

“Of course, I do.”  Ketch was blase, superior about his own apparent ‘stalking,’ shrugging it off.  Then a switch flicked, one Dean couldn’t tell if it was a ruse or not.  A new passion softened his exterior, as if to win Dean over, imploring, “I asked Joanna everything before I saw you tonight.  Because you, Dean, _deserve_ to be known.  So I—”

“We met through mutual friends five years ago and we’ve kept in touch through social media, but haven’t seen each other which is why tonight is an important event.  Dean doesn’t have a favorite color, but he loves burgers and pie, he has a brother and if you really memorize birthdays on a first date, sir?  It’s actually unsettling,” Cas stated definitively.  “That’s why we have reminders on our calendars.”

Holy hell, all those answers—the _correct_ answers—made Dean light up like the sun.  It also bolstered Dean’s confidence in his own feelings because they really had dove in headfirst, getting to know each other, hadn’t they?  Cas wasn’t blowing off a thing that came out of his mouth, like other random strangers, he listened.  He cared.  Yeah, Dean was doomed.  
  
The other two in their company had very different expressions.  Meg was impressed, patting Cas on the back and wondering, “You know all that ‘bout me?” and while Dean was a dawning sun, Ketch’s had dimmed—clearing his throat with the confessed, “Well done.”

Dean turned to his blind date and raised the question, “And what, might I ask, was the point of that?” wrapping his hands around the shot glass, tossing it back.

“I…” For the first time that night, the poised confidence of Arthur Ketch wavered.  “I wasn’t completely convinced he was your good friend.  Maybe an acquaintance.  If he had been, I didn’t understand why we hadn’t done this sooner.”

“Huh.”  Dean paused and couldn’t help but feel a hint of pity.  Just a hint.  “I get it.  Me and Cas...we didn’t know if it was the other until recently.  Not for sure.  The place is jammed packed, we only saw each other in passing.  Plus, we were on these dates for a reason.  Thought towards the end, we could all join in together and have some fun with—”

“Gentlemen and ma’am,” the server smiled as she passed around plates, “Here’s your dessert.  Can I get you anything else?”

Dean’s heartfelt message slammed to a halt (thank God, it was _painful_ ), replaced by a chorus of, “Beer,” “Booze,” “A shot, please,” and “Refill” from the table as they looked down at the disgraceful circle cut-out of chocolate cake, no bigger than two quarters.  A top was thinly-sliced strawberries, with a circle of some sugary puree looped around the dish.

Two bites, and it was gone.  
  
Still, no one, from any of the different camps, were saying anything about the food.  Maybe there was shame, no one would take responsibility for choosing, or there was a gag order written on some waiver you signed when you entered the place.  
  
It was a mystery as to whether or not Meg and Ketch enjoyed it, but Dean and Cas would _kill_ for a pizza.  Like, human sacrifice was totally on the reasonable list of things they’d do.

When the woman came back and handed out the drinks, Meg leaned on her palm, engaging and friendly—as though she was genuinely trying.  Maybe...there was hope for her yet.  
  
Until she opened her mouth.  “So, Ketch.  What are your thoughts about orgies?”

“ _Dammit_ , Meg!”

\------------------------  
  
It...ended up being bearable.

The rest of the evening turned into a tactical game of strategy.  Counteracting Meg and Ketch with either Dean or Cas cancelled out any impending horror.  They worked as a team: whenever one was failing the other fucking hauled them out from the hole they were digging.

Metaphorically.

It wasn’t like before.  When Dean had _literally_ gathered Cas in his arms.  Making his feet disappear under the bathroom stalls.  Leading up to a mess of broken glass and fervorous tongues down each other’s throats—  
  
The memory was distracting!  
  
Now, whenever Dean bit his lip, Cas’ eyes were drawn in.  When Cas rolled his shoulders, Dean salivated from the way his shirt buttons protested against the toned muscles underneath.

They had the bills.

And now they wanted out.

Ketch surprised the hell out of him, covering the entire cost.  Yes, Dean had objected (albeit weakly) to split it at least, but he insisted it wasn’t a problem.

Which made Dean nervous.  
  
Was he being treated as the chick or some shit?  Was Ketch expecting something after dinner?  He couldn’t read this dude!  
  
It was getting late.  They’d continued drinking well into the night, and he prayed this ended their date.  Ketch had been _repeatedly_ speaking of his promotion—maybe as a means of validation, proof to Dean that he had money—one last ditch effort to impress him?

Unfortunately, Cas was saddled with a responsibility.  No one was surprised.

Meg had been sneaking off to the fancy-ass bathrooms (apparently, the Women’s had an exfoliating hand sugar-scrub, which she couldn’t stop yammering about) and snorting coke.  Her obnoxious sniffs from the drip along with the constant nose itching was obvious.  
  
She shamelessly tossed the bill directly to Cas without even looking at it.  Without even ‘putting up a fight’ about who should pay, or going dutch.  God, at least have the _decency_ to go through the motions!

Dean winced when Cas glanced at the bill.  While he hadn’t seen the number at the bottom of he and Ketch’s, he also knew that Meg had been pounding down drinks to counteract her high, where Ketch had restrained himself completely.  
  
Cas’ doubling eye told Dean enough.  Poor guy…

After the credit cards were exchanged, Cas looked tired.  
  
Oh, _no_ , no, no—

That _wasn’t_ gonna fly.  
  
Sure, that bill may’ve been a swift kick to the balls, but Dean was ready to keep the night going.  
  
With Cas.  
  
That was what he’d been waiting for this whole time!  And when he finally caught his attention, he tried to push that intent into his stare without saying the words.  They were still surrounded by the wrong company.

As a group, they’d made their way through the exit and onto the street, Dean just barely able to whisper, “Wait for me,” into Cas’ ear as they parted.  
  
They’d reconnect, right here, there was still the matter of ditching their dates.

With a weak smile, Cas turned to Meg and explained, “I believe it’s best for you to get a taxi home.  I know I picked you up, but I’ll be hailing a cab, too.  I’m much, much too intoxicated to be behind the wheel right now.”

Meg did a double-take and appeared honestly confused.  “Wait.  What do you mean, you’ll be doing the same?  Oh-ho, no, _you’re_ coming home with me, big boy—”

The conversation faded into the background as Ketch (who was actually a gentleman when he wanted to be) moved them so they wouldn’t be eavesdropping.  Dammit, Dean wanted to hear how the conversation ended!  He supposed Cas would tell him but…wait...why was Ketch taking both his hands…?

“I had a lovely time with you this evening, Dean.  I hope to see you in the future,” he professed, and then paused.  That pause was followed by a surprise—something almost devilish on Ketch’s face when he said, “I’d love nothing more than to take you home with me tonight.  Although, in my experience, that would be where our communication ends. I respect you more than that.”

Woah, what?  Should Dean be offended or—?

He didn’t have time to be offended—Ketch pulled a fast one—leaning in a planting a shockingly deep kiss on Dean’s lips, considering he locked up!  
  
Maybe practice makes perfect…Dean mused, Ketch was lucky he retracted in time, before Dean could sock him in the eye or bite off his tongue!

Oh.  And it got even _weirder_.  
  
Ketch cupped Dean’s cheek with his palm (at this point, Dean knew he's lost all control over his face, wondering what the fuck it was doing in his bafflement) and said, “I’ll call you soon.  Allow me to get you a cab—”

“Woah, slow down, buddy!” Dean stopped him right there.  “It’s all good.  I don’t ‘need you’ to do anything.”  His feathers were ruffled, because now he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, he was right.  “You’re totally treating me like a chick, like some kind’a stay-at-home housewife from the 50’s. That doesn’t work, here, pal.  Not for me and not for women either.”

Ketch withdrew, slack-jawed and taken aback.  All he could come up with was, “I apologize if that’s how you felt.  It wasn’t how I meant it.”

With a wave of his hand, Dean stuck to the script, as to not piss Jo off more than he already was going to when he ripped her a new one.  “Tonight was fun, thank you for taking me out.  I hope you get home safely.”

It was a clear, curt, and painful dismissal.

Yet, Ketch’s feet were cement blocks weighing him in place, his eyes still locked with Dean.  He said, “I’m not drunk.  I can drop you off at home, if you need a ride—”

“I don’t.  I’m good.  Really.”  Why did it feel like he was begging?!  “Just watch the roads. There’ll probably be drunk drivers out, even if you’re not one’a them.”

Begrudgingly, Ketch finally retreated with a goodnight.  Dean had no idea what the fuck took him so long, he made it pretty apparent he wasn’t going home with him.  Ketch himself had even spoken against it!  Unless he was giving Dean a casual, hint-hint, and that was his piss-poor attempt at some lame-ass seduction!  
  
Yeah, Dean was salty.  He was salty as fuck and needed to shake this off.  
  
Once he was positive Ketch was gone, Dean felt like he could breathe again.

Except, that breath was quickly stolen when a hand closed around his bicep and spun him around.

Dean’s muffled whine of surprise found Cas’ eager lips plastered to his own, and _yes—_ this was the kiss Dean was waiting for!  And while their hungry tongues brushing was everything he needed, they were still on full display on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.  Dammit, Dean knew, logically, this wasn’t the best place for this to go down.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean caught Cas’ attention and cleared his throat.  “Let’s get out of here because I _definitely_ need more of this.  Just didn't plan on givin’ the world a show.”

“I apologize, I just—”  That was his urgent voice, wow, he meant it.  “When I saw Ketch kiss you I…heh, I can’t quite explain, this may sound like a joke.  I can’t comprehend why I have these strong feelings about you already.”  Cas’ tone was etched in self-deprecation, and Dean didn’t like that at all.  He especially hated when Cas said, “He was your date.  He has more of a right to kiss you than I.  But in my gut, I needed to erase what he did.  I needed to be the last touch you felt, lips you kissed.  Not him.”

Grabbing up Cas’ hand, Dean began walking them down the sidewalk.  “He doesn’t have any rights, he didn’t even ask my permission.  I didn’t want that kiss.  But us?   _We_ talked about this, and fuck, there’s no joking about it, I...feel the same way.  Maybe it's just unexplainable, it'll stay a mystery?  I don’t know _what_ happened tonight either.  But I gotta feeling we were put in each other’s paths for a reason.  I’m not taking it for granted.”  
  
At long last, there was that off-kilter and sexy humor Dean adored in Cas’ voice.  “I’d never wish it away either.  What do you have in mind?  You’ve given me hints, but nothing specific.  Teasing but no answers.  You, Dean, are driving me insane.”  
  
He swung them into a narrow alley and raked his fingers through Dean’s hair, grabbing handfuls to kiss him eagerly.  
  
The way Cas asserted his control without taking away Dean’s: it was out of this world.  They couldn’t stop kissing each other, until Dean remembered the question, or rather—the subject matter.  He helplessly yanked at Cas’ waist.  It was the only thing he had a grip on, the only way to get his attention.

“D-do you wanna get a hotel?  Or…would you rather come back home with me?” Dean was self-conscious for the first time, enamored and fixated on Cas, he didn’t bother delving into his motives.  He prayed they aligned with his own. “Talk to me, Cas.  Tell me what you’re thinking, too.”

Well, it was serious enough to earn Cas stepping back.  He took a beat to gather himself before sighing heavily.  “I’d very much like to go home with you.  I hope, this, us, doesn't end when the sun comes up.  I’d like to be apart of your life.  Which is why I’d love to dip my toes in there, rather than a hotel room.”

Cas looked so debauched, Dean licked his own lips while falling speechless.  But he could still nod.  And nod he did, until his head was about to fall off!

Once more, Cas' arm rose, reaching out to him, unafraid of honesty.  “While it'd be lovely, sex isn't my priority.  I want to enjoy your company.”

Dean took his hand, but the words jarred him.  His brow screwed up in confusion when he asked, “You really mean that?” and they took to the sidewalk to hail a cab.

This stunning, affectionate glow washed over all his previous mischief, confirming, “Of course, I do.  Why else would I say it?”

“That’s…a good point.  You got your order a little screwed up, there,” Dean snickered, and opened the door for Cas once a taxi pulled up to the curb.  “You’re serious?” he asked one last time, now that they were seated in the cab, and when Cas smiled and rested a hand easily on his thigh—

Dean didn’t hesitate to give the driver his address.

If Cas was some random serial killer?  That was cool, it meant he'd met two tonight.  At least with this one, he'd die happy.

\------------------------

After that one-two-punch to the gut from the bill, Dean insisted he’d pay for the ride when they were dropped off at Dean’s home.

Yeah, things in the restaurant bathroom escalated.  This chemistry between them fueled a boundless intensity, unable to keep their hands to themselves—even outside the joint.

Now?  As Dean unlocked his front door and cast a cursory glance to investigate where Cas’ head was it, it appeared he’d cooled off.  Who knew if it was the cab ride, the destination, if he was having second thoughts—

He snugly closed the door and locked it.  Dean was vigilant, never lowering his guard, waiting for the moment Cas would shove him against a wall.  Demand where the bedroom was.  Except…that time never came.

Hell, Dean turned on the light in the entryway for them to hang up their coats and kick off their shoes.  
  
The silence was weighted, it was uncertain.  
  
Until Cas finally spoke up and Dean had clarity.

“Would you be so kind as to give me the tour?” he asked and…  
  
He was _beaming_.  Dammit, the fact Cas was willing to share his joy…did things to Dean.

Sure, it didn’t shoot right to his crotch and make him stand at attention, it went someplace much more dangerous.  His friggin heart.  That, right there, _wasn’t supposed to_ be free game, Dean never gave that away!  
  
Cas found a loophole.

Flashing his devil-may-care grin, Dean chuckled.  “’Course I can.  Let’s start with downstairs and leave the best for last.”

“I’d like that.”  Yeah—his interest was warm, unafraid.  “I’d like that a lot.”

Dean was doomed.

\----------------------------------

When they couldn’t put it off any longer, when the tour was done and Dean was opening the door to his bedroom, his heart raced all over again, wondering what would unfold.  Still, he kept in character, he held steady with his ’tour guide’ voice and turned on dimmed, bedside lamp—indicating, “And this is where the magic happens.”

While Dean went to sit on the edge of the mattress in earnest, Cas walked around the perimeter.  Looking seemingly everywhere _but_ the bed—instead, examining the room with a close eye.  He took his time, poring over the framed photos of Dean and Sam, humming at random.  Eventually, after taking in every small detail, he turned back to face him.

“You have a very lovely home, Dean.  I’m honored you welcomed me into it.”  Cas moved to stand in-between Dean’s semi-spread legs, carding fingers through his already-disheveled hair, staring down upon him.  “I mean it, you know.”

“M-mean what?”  He didn’t intend to sound nervous, to stumble, but Cas was fucking gorgeous.  Surprisingly, he’d enjoyed giving the tour instead of rushing them here, call it an odd kink Dean didn’t know he had.

Well, he didn’t even know _what_ the fuck to call it.  A respect kink?  Did that exist?

Cas was direct, he dipped down and kissed Dean soundly, promising against his lips, “We’re more than a one night stand.  Would you let me prove it to you?”

Swallowing hard, Dean allowed Cas to pull away his shirt, undershirt and soon, his pants.  
  
Fuck, Dean could not get control over his cock tonight!  It was hard, it was at half-mast, up-down-left-right-whatever—!, it was everywhere and anywhere it wanted to be!  
  
But...at least Cas was smiling.  That had to count for something, or mean he was doing something right.  
  
Cas mirrored the way he undressed Dean on himself, stripping down to his boxers, before he leaned forward and spread a very pliant Dean out on the bed.  And kissed the hell out of him.

Right as their make-out session hit a peaked high, when their bodies demanded to be one, when they _needed more_ …that’s when Cas decided to pull away.

In fact, his motions and intent changed completely.  He led them to tumble around, to weave in and out, moving them.  Until they were under the bedding?  Which was made zero sense either.

The only times Dean had fucked under the covers were during icy winters and shoddy heat, or when a lover had been self-conscious about their body.  And goddamn, Cas was confident.  For good reason.  Every inch of him was toned, his muscles making Dean ashamed _he’d_ been the one to _pick up Cas_  in the bathroom.  It should’ve been the other way around, how could he have known at the time?!

There was no doubt scooping Dean up would be as easy as lifting a stack of papers for Cas!

So why was he…?

Cas rocked down to his back, changing his position from stealing Dean’s breath away, to…pull him onto his chest.

Although he went willingly, there was still puzzlement buzzing loudly in Dean’s brain.  Even though Cas’ strong arms surrounding him felt friggin wonderful, wrapped tightly, giving him an odd sensation of safety.  And Dean couldn't help it, he ate it up, he savored every damn second.  
  
Still, they never ‘snapped.’  While their unwinding was equally physical, both enraptured by each other, Cas was clever.  Sneaky enough to taper them down, right to where they were resting, all before Dean knew what happened!  Because...they’d definitely just...stopped.

Once he’d caught his breath, no matter how fantastic Cas’ hand tenderly stroking along his side felt, or the flitting, random kisses: he needed to know one thing. “Uh, did you change your mind about me?  About us?”  It was barely above a whisper, part of him didn't want to know.

“About wanting you?” Cas wondered with a monotone voice, no tells evident, because he needed Dean’s real question.

“Yeah, I mean, I thought we both in this we figured it out.  That somethin' was here.  Please, don’t tell me Meg and her chakras— _whatever—_ got to you questioning yer choices again...or something...”

“Oh, _Dean—_ ”  He shook his head in raucous laughter.  “It honestly hurts.  How bad I want you.  Fuck, I don’t think I’ve been this hard in my life, but I’m proving this to you and to myself.  You're right: what I found with you is different.”  He kissed a stunned Dean’s forehead when he went on, “I found a companion.  My ideal combination of beauty and brains.  Someone worth more than a quick roll in the sheets, and if I have to keep my hands to myself to prove it?  That’s preciously what I want to do.”

Castiel sat up enough to meet Dean’s wide-eyes and flattered expression.  No one had ever made an effort like this for him.  It wasn’t just new—it was batshit crazy.

“After tonight, we have permission to indulge.  I _know_ this isn’t a fluke.  I need to make certain that you take me seriously.  This wasn't a shelter in the storm, seeing each other as a step-up, compared to ours date.  That alcohol wasn't a motivator.  You need to believe when I say I’m sticking around,” he vowed, grazing his lips across the extended expanse of Dean’s throat.  “I need to prove how special you are.  To _you_.”

“Heh, dork.  At least you're consistent.  That was one of the first things you said to me.  You might just make me believe it,” Dean clucked his tongue, aching for an active role, instead of sitting there as the dumbass he felt like.  “I think you’re pretty fucking special, too.  Jesus, If you weren’t this strong, we’d have a problem.  ‘Cause I sure as hell can't hold us back.  Not after tasting you, and how bad I wanna feel your c—”

“Is this is an attempt to break down my walls?” Cas raised a sharply arched eyebrow, ripping a moan from Dean’s chest as he ground their throbbing and neglected erections together.  “I will _not_ break.  My mind’s set on having you by my side.  Not just bent over, or underneath me, constantly fucking you senseless.”

“Cas!” Dean gasped indignantly, “You _can’t_ just—!”

“I just did.  Besides, you started it,” he pointed out with a shrug.  “Now get over here.  Let’s get to bed.  The magic will still be there in the morning.”

The most difficult thing of the night was muffling his ironic laugh.  
  
Oh, if Cas had _any_ idea how taken, how deeply his infatuated ran, how it walked the line of something a bit heavier….the ridiculous feelings coming to a head?  Already?  Magic maybe the only way to describe it.  
  
Fuck, Dean was in over his head, and (again!) here this new kink went: the respect one!  Well, Cas nailed a shit-ton of his kinks, it was proof with how his dick pulsed, weeping with need, while Cas relaxed was under him.  The jerk was fully aware of it too from the way he was draped.  Dean had half a mind to hump his leg, blue balls ready to explode!  
  
While his body and mind clashed, there was a victor.  
  
Holding each other...the _act_ of being pressed together may have been torture down south.  But the intimacy easily surpassed carnal desire.  It was silently meaningful.

Dean figured he’d risk it: “Start getting used to this.”

“Hm?”  Cas leaned in, kissing Dean’s flushed-again cheek.  “What’s that?”

“This house.  This bed.  Us falling asleep together.  Really soon, Cas, this is gonna be your new normal.”  He was brave, maybe even brash.  At the same time, he didn’t feel it was unfounded.  
  
Dean wasn’t the kind of guy who put much stock into relationships, even once he’d spent months—hell, _years—_ in them.  In his world, everything was temporary.  Maybe he didn’t have faith in other people, maybe he didn’t had faith in himself.  Yet, he believed _in this_ with every bone in his body.  Dean felt Cas shiver, knowing both their worlds had been rocked.  
  
A sense of accomplishment washed over him, Cas’ reaction giving himself away.

“I want it.  I’d love that.”  He tightened his arms around Dean.  “This new normal isn’t one I anticipated, but a future I’ll fight for.”

“Hey, no one ever sees me coming!” Dean’s cheeky comment melted into a happy sigh and found himself caught up in wonderment.  “Five minutes in, I thought someone was fucking with me, it had to be a joke…and with you, hell, it was too good to be true.  Like I might've lost my grip on reality.  I know I'm being cheesy but, Cas?  Right time, _and_ right place?  Well, once we _found_ the right place...”

“I won’t second guess it.  I’ll celebrate.”

That was easy enough. Dean liked that answer and he grinned.

“Yeah, me too.  G’night, sweetheart.”

“Sleep well, Dean.”

It felt natural.  Being lulled unconscious by Cas’ warmth.  Reminiscing over the one-in-a-million odds of crossing paths, taking a risk, and Dean being 100% positive they’d stay together.  He really liked that math.  
  
During the night, there were stolen kisses, weaving in and out of each other’s arms.  No matter how they turned or rolled, they were drawn back together—a pure and innocent contentment, neither letting go.  
  
Dean was concerned for a half-second he might be jumping the gun, if something was wrong with his head, this _was_ only the beginning.  But just as fast as his worry appeared, it was quickly dismissed.  No way he was wrong.

The fact they'd begun early was a blessing, now having  _that_ _much more_ time to look forward to.  
  
The saying goes: love will find you when you least expect it.  Of course, he thought it was bullshit, yet, he'd converted: Dean was a believer.  
  
Best date night _ever_.

\-----------------------

Originally, Dean had anticipated a certain kind of morning: a hangover from drinking too much, stomach empty from the god-awful restaurant —absolutely blaming Ketch—and the bad taste of regret in his mouth.

While he was hungry as hell (let’s be real, he usually was) in reality, as he gathered his bearings, all other predictions changed rapidly with a newsflash.  By Dean’s all-consuming inner monologue of _‘fucking awesome_.’

Sure, a tinge of a headache was leftover from booze, but his partner in crime made it an after-thought.  
  
The same partner who Dean managed to lure into his bed.  Who was amazing beyond words.  Who gave Dean way more credit than he’d would ever give himself, or even deserved.  
  
So said initial crappy downfall of a date?  Had actually led to real dat _ing_.  Just, uh, not with the same dude.  Funny, ironic, happy accident, he didn't know which.  What’s that bullshit quote?  ‘It’s a good story to tell the grandkids!’  Yep, Dean was still optimistic.  
  
...About him and Cas.  He wasn’t planning on two point five kids and an apple pie life just yet.

Last night, Dean had grinned and bared it during his battle against a raging hard-on and the most epic sexual frustration of his life.  He couldn’t even cheat, run to the bathroom and jerk off!  
  
Looking back and fantasizing about Cas’ touch, his lips and his— _fuck—_ he was double, maybe even triple-pent-up this morning!  
  
With their last chat roaming current in Dean thoughts...their initial, imperative goal was to stick it out.  Make it to morning.  Keeping it in their pants for proof it wasn’t a drunk thing.  A rebound thing.  An Upgrade-from-their-Shitty-Dates-Thing.  
  
Although it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, their 'things' were just getting started!

Dean decided to steal a moment of his own—soaking in the sight of Cas, gorgeous, sexy, funny, almost-naked Cas.

Yep.  Dean sure as hell still wanted him.  Then again, he’d never had any doubts to begin with.  He’d also taken measures to prove that.  Speaking words, provoking thoughts to get things moving before Cas even knew they were moving!  The steps they'd already taken and the promise of more today?  Dean was _so_ in.  He wanted all of it, as much as Cas would give him.  
  
Dean was committed before being asked any serious questions.  
  
He wanted dates—Dean could already picture them in living color—they’d had the barest, taunting taste.  He felt as if he’d known Cas a lifetime after one night and he was greedy for the next.  
  
Cas sparked a change, this wasn’t Dean’s usual MO.  He usually avoided the scene, finding the motions an annoyance and a waste of time.  What percentage of 'dinner and a movie' became more than just that?    
  
Now he understood what everyone was out there, searching, sifting through potentials to find.  Because it was happening to him.  
  
_He_ wanted all those fun, random dinners where they actually ate _real_ food.  After both complained of starvation and hating that joint, he began imagining all the endless places he could take Cas.  
  
He wanted relaxed nights in, curled up on the couch.  After a single evening (without boning, thankyouverymuch) it was obvious Cas wasn’t afraid to show affection and, you know, _cuddle_.  ...And Dean liked that shit.  Sue him!  
  
To top everything off, they made excellent drinking buddies.  After long work weeks, they could unwind together at the bar, too!  Cas was the whole package.  
  
The only other thing Dean wanted was lazy mornings in bed with this guy (already a countdown in the making) and...something they’d test out soon.  
  
It was _stupid_ how well they clicked and it worked.  It was hard to put into words, but this bond was solid.  Almost as if before their meeting, the rest of their lives had been a waiting game.  It was up to them to find each other, put the puzzle together and make it real.  From here on out, what they had would only strengthen.

Oh yeah, Dean also wanted him (plus his dick) on a super sexy level, too.  But all in good time.  
  
‘Good time’ was relative.  It was taking everything in him not to shake Cas awake and demand sex on the spot.

He knew it required a little more…finesse.  Some romancing and batting-his-eyelashes-crap.  
  
Dean begrudgingly behaved himself.  He laid awake (then sat up, then rolled onto his stomach, rinse and repeat) to brainstorm.  
  
It wasn’t ungodly early, (during his scheming he was pretty sure he had ‘the lightbulb’ moment) figuring this was a good time to hatch this baby, spring his plan into action.

Carefully and nimbly, Dean crawled over Cas’ body—he was laying on his back, sprawled out on the bed—until his position gave him access to Cas’ neck.  Slowly, so slowly it _pained_ him, Dean lowered his weight down onto Cas as his lips brushed the column of his throat.  
  
When he nibbled against the hinge of Cas’ jaw, his five o’clock shadow offering just enough rugged resistance.  Pressed together, with Dean’s weight no longer on his limbs, he couldn’t help stroking his fingers through that soft, messy, and too-tempting bed head.

A low rumble sounded in Cas’ throat and Dean studied him carefully.  He unconsciously tilted his head towards the flowing caress, encouragement for Dean to continue.  When he sucked Cas’ earlobe into his mouth, the airy, breathy moans and small, barely-there rock of his hips were _excellent_ signs.

Dean took that as a cue, allowing his touch to roam...  He wasn’t gonna launch and assault, jolting Cas awake, but now that he'd started?  Dean physically couldn’t keep his wandering hands to himself!  It wasn’t anything invasive, just enough to coax—

“Dean...” Cas’ groan was husky with arousal, his eyes dilated from the lazy second they fluttered opened.  His breath picked up pace, arms reaching out to wrap around Dean, when he whispered, “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“G’morning,” he returned with a wicked smile, dipping down to nip Cas’ collarbone, conversationally asking, “How did you sleep?”

Nothing was casual about this roll of Cas’ hips.  His previously dream-like haze had shed, energy now surging from hunger.  Their cocks collided as hard as last night—this time, the blood rushed much faster, still aching from last.  
  
Cas choked on his response, “W-well.  I-I-I slept quite well.”

“Me, too,” Dean confirmed, maintaining control in this situation, since he'd been damn near powerless last night.  He retracted just far enough to catch Cas’ eye.  “Sleeping next to you felt nice.  Somethin’ I could get used to.”  
  
Unfortunately, Dean was a jackass and made a stupid choice.  His whole grand plan of toying and teasing his maybe-probable-boyfriend went up in smoke.  
  
No sooner had he laid eyes on Cas—the tables turned: he’d lost and he was at Cas’ mercy.   _Again_.  Dammit!  
  
Dean was awestruck and suckered in with ease.  Captivated by lust-drunk, dazzling eyes and plush lips, begging to be ravished.

Both moved at the same exact time.  Dean fell back down with gravity—Cas surged up with power and muscle.  The distance between them didn’t simply vanish, it ceased to exist.  
  
One look.  It had only taken one look for both of them to break, craving the feel of the other’s kiss again.  
  
No matter how much time they had together, it wasn’t enough, _they couldn’t get enough,_  but it didn't mean they couldn't try to quench the thrist.  
  
Rationally: they’d have many chances—potentially endless—but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.  Their lips against each others felt like their last breath of air, fighting for touch like their lives were on the line.  Experiencing someone on this level was staggering.

That, right there: Dean’s astonishment, no matter how welcomed, was the problem.

He had everything planned out to a T!  
  
Except, he hadn’t taken into account (rather, he’d totally forgot) his friggin mindless obsession with kissing Cas.  
  
The sheer passion and irresistibly deliberate choice in which Cas moved to drive Dean crazy—it messed with his head, scrambled his brains!  How Cas held him tight to his chest, cradling Dean as their tongues brushed—he masterminded a technique both intimate and downright filthy at the same time—

And, fuck, the things he could do with that mouth…

Countless visions flew through Dean’s mind and he stifled a moan.  Imagining Cas going down on him.  How it’d feel if Cas ate him out.  Dean prayed they were together for a very, very long time so he could find out all the answers…

Parting viscerally hurt: but they needed to gather themselves, gather the wind back into their lungs as a necessary evil.  Dean had to be able to friggin breathe if he was to show off his nifty reveal, right?  
  
After a quick kiss to Cas’ nose, Dean struggled and fumbled in his retreat.  He needed to regain some sense of independence.  To find that headspace and that calm he'd gained, you know, _before_ Cas woke up and zapped him with his seductive wiles.  Making Dean lose his goddamn mind.  
  
Yeah, it was hard as hell returning to the mindset of the driver, not the passenger, even briefly.  But, dammit, he fought for it!

“I was awake before you.  Thought our night and about us for a while.  How much I liked the thought of ‘us.’  And I hope you still do, too,” Dean led in, perching on Cas, grinding his hips down.  
  
Their erections created the sought-after, fantastic friction, but Dean couldn’t get distracted.  He needed to stay on task—just a little longer!  Hell, Dean had to bite down on his lip to keep from mewling, the sensation close to overwhelming.  
  
Instead, he mustered up his bravado (he was good at this, Cas unknowingly made him confident) and snorted, “Did you know you sleep like a rock?” and felt a blooming satisfaction at the flash of puzzlement on that magnificent face.  Dean continued, “I knew early, right when I woke up and saw you next to me, this was where I wanted us to be _._   Then I got restless.  So now it’s your choice to make, Cas.  While you snoozed like the damn dead, I decided to be proactive.”

Dean nodded his head over to the nightstand—proud of himself for keeping it together this long—dropping the hint, “’Cause, right there, is where my head’s at.”

Normally, Cas being unable to tear his eyes away, raking his hungry gaze over every inch of Dean, it would’ve been great!  A compliments, flattery.  
  
Except, he didn’t want to be the focus of Cas' tunnel vision right now.  Dean wanted Cas to listen, to pay attention, and friggin see where he was directing him!  
  
Although, Cas’ admission, “I must have been extremely comfortable, I’m normally a light sleeper,” made Dean beam  
  
Eventually, the time-lapse became ridiculous.  Dean grabbed Cas’ chin and wrenched his head to the side.  
  
“Oh, Dean—”  Yes.  While he loved the sexual tension and the pining, _that_ was that reaction he was after!  Both Cas’ interest and excitement intensified physically, his words ended up as a mystified, “I...really _was_ out.”

This morning, Dean had done some serious digging in an effort to surprise Cas, while he continued to get his beauty rest.  
  
His efforts had paid off, finding and presenting his hidden treasure.  On the bedside table Dean had set out a small bottle of lube and two condoms, in two sizes—regular and Magnum—just to be safe.  He covered all his bases, this had to go on without a hitch.  After everything, he wasn’t about to be slowed down because of a logistical problem!  
  
Dean was showing his intentions very clearly—he wanted Cas in his ass, right the hell now, and he’d taken every measure to make it happen.  Dean had taken care of _all_ the fine print (yes, he’d had time to take care of _his own_ fine print, too) their future and his desires—everything laid in Cas’ hands.

Dean’s heart rose to his throat when Cas reached out, then dropped out in time when Cas’ arm did.  His stomach also plummeted when Cas scooted out from under him and grabbed him, rather than—at the _very least—_ staying put.  He didn't even let Dean keep on kissing him!

“Well, fuck me,” Dean scoffed under his breath in defeat.  Only realizing afterwards his word choice was ironic as shit, because—  
  
Soon, Cas' palms were on his cheeks and scooping his attention back up.

He was smiling…?  Dean wanted to lash out, call him a sick bastard for getting off on his pain like this and—!

“Yes, I _will_ fuck you.  On the condition you tell me, have to _promise me_ : this is more than sex.  We‘re not having a one-morning-stand, after a one hit wonder of a night?” Cas repeated his need for confirmation.  
  
Oh, wow.  Just as it had been the previous evening, it was still important and highest priority to Cas, even now.  That was a zinger that shot through Dean, restarting his heart, sparking it back to life.  
  
Thank God.  
  
When Dean flashed back and recalled the morning from Cas’ point of view: being ravished into waking, followed by Dean—fast-as-lightning—suggestively serving himself up on a platter...yeah.  It looked like Dean had forgotten their pledge.  
  
Dean assumed they was a given, a friggin non-issue.  Their bond was undeniable, that ( _obviously)_  they were gonna stay the course!  
  
But they’d never had a _conversation_.  Being that it was Cas' idea in the first place and Dean hadn't even had a chat with him, the concerns made even more sense.  
  
Cas had gone from one overpowering heated-make-out into the next—only a night’s sleep in between them.  
  
Yet, Dean was awake.  He greeted the day soaking up the joys of knowing there was love in his life.  He had time to process it, get even more geeked about it, and maybe during his wait—  
  
He grew too impatient.  Antsy.  Hopped on Cas before the guy knew which way was up!  
  
To Cas, the lack of addressing the topic could've looked like a big, fat "no thanks, but let's go out with a literal bang."  
  
Both jumped to conclusions and Dean was in the better place to remedy this.  He was more alert, having the time to reaffirm, fantasize and (his bad) grow eager to continue.  Well, the 'alert' part should help, at least.  Ah—he prayed he could ease his mind, fast.  
  
Note to self: next time around, Dean should probably use his upstairs brain first.  Try to hold back from _throwing_ himself at/on someone, until he could chat with _the other_ person’s upstairs brain...

He never should’ve doubted Cas.  Dean shook his head, laughing.  “You kidding me?  Us being more than sex was never a question.  If even a sliver of you is worried, we can wait.  For as long as you want.”  
  
He left the sentence hanging in the air, because he had more to say.  
  
Dean paused, attempting to gather his millions of thoughts—there were so many things Cas needed to hear.  Most had to be delivered from a sober Dean, today—they wouldn't have carried as much weight last night.  
  
There was a subtle-but-nervous energy in the air surrounding Cas, which made Dean's job more important, “You’re fucking amazing, Cas.  Somehow you transformed a shitshow into a helluva great memory.  Not just great, it's a time I'll look back on and consider myself lucky to have.  And…I want as many of _those_ as you’re willing to give me.  It was unconventional, but that's why we fit: that's why it was the best date I’ve had.  Period.  I never want those to end.”  
  
Yeah, he totally felt confident about this—he had Cas’ rapt attention.  Dean cleared his throat, gaining steam.  
  
“So, back to your question: no.  No One Hit Wonders, I wanna light up the charts, whether it means moving onward and upward or, hell, just hanging out.  Or even more—if you’ll let me.  We _work_ , we _make sense,_  no one can convince me otherwise.  And at the end of the day...I want you, however you want it.”  Dean leaned into the touch and felt a reigniting glee when Cas’ face lit up.  So he pushed a little, sue him!  “It’s not _my_ fault you look like a sex god!  All spread out in my bed, tempting and shit, only thing I can think about is your cock.”

“We did a banner job of setting ourselves up, didn’t we?” Cas admitted, no longer a ball of anxiety, it melted away and he returned to himself.

“We _totally_ did.  Which was why I took the liberty of making things as easy as possible this morning...” Dean pronounced note deeper and richer, stealing a single kiss.  He lingered close enough to feel Cas’ hot breath puff against his lips, with the hushed temptation, “All you gotta do?  Is roll on a condom, lube up and show me what you’ve got.”

“Wait.  Did you—?” Cas, thrown for another loop (Dean celebrated again), was doing his best not to trip over his words.  His eyes went wide, entire body alive with restlessness, emanating desire and hunger.  His posture continued to shift, as though he could pounce at any moment.

_Finally_ , this turned around for the better, playing out much closer to how Dean imagined things going the first time!  
  
Crisis averted, they'd corrected the course, (along with any concerns along the way) and he was dying to start the party!  
  
Dean answered a simple, “Yep.  I did.”  Riling Cas up was addicting.  It loosened his tongue, Dean couldn’t stop from running his mouth, “Right next to you.  Too bad you’re such a heavy sleeper, huh?”  He began crawling backward on the bed, stealing Cas’ previous spot, smoothly delivering the challenge, “You in or out?”

Ruffled didn’t begin to describe Cas.  “You had to go and phrase it like that, didn’t you?”

“Naturally.”  Dean suggestively sucked on his lip, waiting for the moment when he—

Yes, Cas tackled him.

He straight-up launched, pinning Dean to the mattress, his fingers digging at the meat of Dean’s sides.  Cas used his grasp to manipulate his body, spreading kisses across Dean’s stomach and back in an act of adoration, backed by a blazing fire.  
  
That didn’t mean Dean was going quietly.  Not yet.  He already chastised himself earlier, after falling apart from Cas’ kiss, alone.  It reinforced his gumption to hold himself together (for a little while) it was a priority!  
  
More fodder was the near-heart attack Cas induced, making him fear for their relationship!  Dean felt struck by a new wind—a chance at redemption.  He refused to abandon his plan, and he damn well wasn't gonna relinquish control until there was a cock inside him.

Dean’s legs shot out, wrapping around whatever part of Cas was closest—it happened to his waist and shoulder—and he hauled him in.  
  
“Hey, I didn’t do all this work for nothing.”  His words and tone were playful, while deliberate and selected: all to get a point across.  “Anymore teasing and I’m gonna explode, I wasn't built for goddamn _days_ of foreplay—let’s get movin’—!”

Quickly, Dean made the amendment, “And _then_ I wanna cuddle the hell out of you.  You’re not leaving my room today,” in case a niggling backburner piece of Cas was trigger-shy.  
  
No matter how absolutely bogus the idea of Dean only being here for sex was.  
  
It was totally nuts, but, okay, they _were_ new—Cas hadn’t known Dean long enough or well enough to realize...how serious this was to him.  
  
Well, and how seriously new and rare.  Plus, Dean was _being serious:_  which never happened either.  A whole list of crazy had been racked up, all surrounding Cas, who was in the dark _he_ actually plopped _Dean_ in uncharted territory.  The dude was oblivious, he didn’t even know the effect he had—!

...But Cas would get there.  Dean was happy to show him the way.  He was banking on it, and looked forward to the journey.

“Really?  You’ll explode?” Cas’ amusement was palpable, and Dean’s was too.   _Until_ he was face down.  Suffocating on a goddamn pillow.  “We wouldn’t want that to happen now, would we?”

Downright smitten with this new turn of events, Dean peered over his shoulder to see Cas move fast—tearing open a condom, rolling it down his cock.  The speed he used to grab the lube was superhuman.  Continuing to crane his head back to watch was uncomfortable and pointless.  Hearing the click of the lid was enough—now Dean's goal was concentrating on deep, soothing breaths to relax his body.

“I don’t want to get my head ripped off,” Cas prefaced, “Still...are you sure you’re ready—for _this_?”

Okay, Dean could appreciate that.  It was more legit to quadruple-check than it was to dive in, blind.

This time, Dean showed patience.  And a dash of raw honesty in exchange for Cas’ own.

“Y-yeah, I swear.  And, Cas…thank you.  For coming back with me, taking a chance.  Then the whole sayin’ I’m, uh, special.”  The words were hard to say, Dean didn’t particularly like bring up compliments.  Still, he meant it, he knew that it would make a difference.

It worked _damn well_ to inspire.

The head of his cock swirled around Dean’s hole, lube dripping in excess, tickling down his balls.  Yet, the way Cas would just barely push in, stretching his rim, teasing— _still_.  It had Dean’s cock pulsing, his body squirming, jerking—his damn soul—awash with need.

Cas continued the maddening pattern.  Randomly, and without warning, he’d push inside Dean’s body and retreat.  Slowly, easily inching deeper than before, praising him, “I would’ve followed you anywhere last night.  I believe it may become a trend.  And you are special,” a sharp inhale, and Cas’ dick was half-way inside of him.  “Another time, I’ll list the reasons—”

“Please, c’mon, _Cas_!” Dean begged, constantly bucking and rearing backwards—fighting to meet him halfway, to finally swallow down his damn cock.  But it _wasn’t_ working—the way he'd been restrained was too goddamn effective, he wanted Cas - all of him!  “I need it, fuck—need you inside me so bad, it _hurts_ , please—”

He should have took Cas re-adjusting his hands as a sign: Dean finally free of his confines a half-second before Cas plunged inside Dean.  All those teasing slides and long strokes vanished.  Cas sheathed himself in one, unbelievable thrust.  
  
Cas (and Dean by extension) felt their union completely, shuddering, doubling over and reeling.  No one knew whose gasp filled the room, but Cas was the first to move.  He did it gingerly, with care, taking his time to kiss the knobs of Dean’s spines when he languidly began to rock—working into a steady rhythm.

Dean was too busy stifling the urge to shred the pillow in his clutches.  Throw a mix of fabric machete and feathers into the fucking air.  Holy fuckin’ shit—he _thought_ he was ready—and...he had _not been_.

Needlessly to say, even though he couldn’t do jack to form words right now: Dean was very appreciative of the gentle way Cas was moving.  He read Dean’s body language, altering his actions in turn.  But it didn't stop him from escalating.  
  
God knows Dean would throw a fit if Cas stopped or asked if something was wrong—and nothing was _wrong_ , he was taking time to...refocus.  
  
Yeah, that regrouping helped damn fast.  Once Dean began fixating on the smooth glide of their bodies working together, the way he'd already began naturally relaxing around Cas’ cock—it was easy.  Dean's initial breathless shock was a distant memory and—

Holy hell, this was good—this was really, _really_ friggin good—

So awesome, in fact, those airy sighs and happy noises saturating the open air were surprising.  Surprising, because it took  _for_ -friggin- _ever_ to click: those sounds?  Were all coming  _him_.  
  
Well, fuck.  Add another thing he had no control over to the list.  At this point, it wasn’t on his radar.  
  
The ungodly pleasure Cas spiked through him fried his filter.  His moans and words burst freely from his chest, pleas and demands falling from his lips, and Dean…  
  
He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.  And, hell no, he didn’t want a second of this to stop.  Cas wasn’t only inside him, Cas surrounded him: knitting them together in a way he couldn’t explain—it left his mouth dry and water at the same time.  
  
Dean was engulfed by hot, electric sensations.  
  
No stretch of his skin had been neglected, been stimulated by Cas’ hot mouth, his teeth, his powerful body pressing skin-to-skin or his wandering, mischievous hands.  He constantly teetered the edge, not sure if Cas’ fingers would appear in the form of tender worship or sharp, spine-rolling pleasure.  
  
Whatever surprise Cas' had up his sleeve was spot-on—he'd already dismantled Dean into a keening, groaning, shouting fucking _mess_ .  
  
They began moving in sync, falling into a perfect tempo: Dean unsure if Cas slowed down or he sped up to meet with Cas’ rhythm.  Soon, and more importantly, _together_ , they were building up to a faster, frenzied pace.  
  
Shit, even as he was short-circuiting, Dean recognized Cas knew _exactly_ how to please a lover.  
  
Barely grazing against Dean’s sweet spot left him wanting, craving more—instead of spinning him into dangerous territory: utterly over-sensitive, useless, and a different kind of desperate.  
  
While that could be meant for another day, it wasn’t today— _their day_.  Dean didn’t care how stupid it sounded, but this was different.  Different, because when Dean tumbled into bed with someone it was fierce and passionate _because_ they only had one try.  They had to make the most of it.  
  
Yes, this was the start, and somehow the sex was even better, elevated, than even his wildest flings...in every way.  And it was all due to who he was with.  
  
Oh, and reading each other from across the room came in handy here, too.  
  
From the beginning, what Dean needed clicked with Cas.  And he knew exactly how to build up the kinetic ball of desire in Dean’s belly.  So much so, he was struggling to choke down and muffle the next thing outta his mouth.

Damn, if Cas wasn’t leading them right up to a crescendo—

“How does it feel, Dean?  Everything you were hoping for?” …Dean hoped that wasn’t a jab because he’d pushed him.  Or Cas actually expected a coherent answer.  Luckily, he didn’t, but Cas did impossibly _more_ damage to Dean, continuing, “Holy hell, you’re so hungry, greedy for my cock.  The way you move, desperate to fuck yourself harder—just watching you is enough to make me cum.”

“Jesus, Cas!”  His words were half-squealed, the familiar chaotic ricochet of pleasure rising up, _so close_ to breaking the surface.  “You and yer _mouth_ will get me off.  I can’t hold back anymore, babe, you feel _too damn—_ ”  
  
Aw hell, Dean couldn’t finish the sentence!  
  
Cas had taken the hint and instantly redirected the angle of his thrusts.  The little shit knew exactly where to find Dean’s prostate, nailing it head-on, laying in wait for a time like this!  Oh, and did he get him…

Dean was fighting to stay propped on all fours, instead of downgrading to three: those three being his knees and face smashed against the mattress.  Fuckin’ _fuck_ , this orgasm…the way that Cas continued to fuck him through it…

The way he rocked and pivoted his hips, it wasn’t designed to get Cas off, he was pressing all of _Dean’s_ buttons.  Cas implemented all the mind-blowing things he could manage: to make certain Dean rode out his pleasure as long, and on the highest peak, as possible.  
  
Yeah, Cas ( _thank God)_ came while Dean was piecing together the clues, but by the time the condom was tied off in the trash and he’d wet-wiped them down, Dean realized: this was a keeper.

“Do you…always do that?”  It wasn’t overly coherent, but Dean figured maybe Cas would know what he was talking about.

Cas hummed to the stretched out octopus arms and legs that were Dean, holding him, and asked, “Ditch one date to begin another?  No.  That was the first.  And the last.  Especially if I have you.”

“Heh.”  Dean shook his head, beaming in that dumbass, dopey way.  Even if that wasn’t the answer he wanted…he liked this one better.  “Well guess what…you’ve got me.”

A swift and steady hand guided Dean to an angle where Cas could thoroughly and enthusiastically kiss him.  “The turn of events worked out well in our favor.  And news that I’m still gay.”

“ _So_ gay,” Dean avidly confirmed and snickered.  “Your accident with ‘you-know-who’ can officially fade into the background.  Old news.  Ancient history.  Gone!”

“And _your_ incident with blind dates needs to be discussed with your best friend, who clearly doesn't know your tastes very well,” Cas countered, hand absently caressing Dean’s back with affection.

After a moment of thought, Dean came up with a downright brilliant plan, if he did say so himself!  “How about I introduce you to her?  Bestie meets boyfriend.  Then she’ll be able to see my _real_ tastes: up close and personal.  Plus, we keep up the tradition!” Dean dazzled brighter than the morning sun when he alluded, "You know what we gotta do, right?"  
  
Cas raised an interested eyebrow, curiosity piqued, "Do tell."  
  
Dean easily announced, “We'll make it a double-date!” puffed up in excitement.   
  
Right away, a wild grin flashed across Cas' face.  That was all the confirmation—the approval—he needed.   "Strength in numbers, right?"  
  
Dean was proud, echoing back, "Hell yeah, babe.  Strength in numbers."


End file.
